The predicted pain also made her grasp the quilt on her body. She was used to what her hands wanted to grasp. It was as thin as a chicken and her fingers. She couldn't help opening and gripping.
Suddenly, a warm hand held her hand. She instinctively grasped it. The more painful it was, the tighter it was. The more painful it was, the more reluctant it was to put it down.
Her eyes suddenly rolled out a drop of tears. Her long eyelashes moved secretly, but she never opened them.
The door outside opened, a few scattered steps came, and then there was a faint, but very habitual sigh.
"Won't you go back?"
"Well, I don't want to go back. I want to accompany her through these days. The doctor said, it's these days."
"You are kind." the man came over, and his voice was approaching.
"You know, her mother deliberately hit your car just to get the insurance. It has nothing to do with you to die. Alas... It's all caused by poverty."
He said, and then glanced at the half dead woman in the disease, "you said, is this retribution for her? Her own mother doesn't want to be a cow or a horse for others. The family hasn't seen her as a person."
"She was ill, served her, guarded her, sold iron, and even took her life for insurance, but she didn't want her own mother, but none of her family came to see her, and didn't pay a penny for her medical expenses. What do you think she wanted?"
"And..." the man shook his hand. "I've got the insurance premium back. You'd rather carry a human life than get this. Why?"
I don't know how long I stopped or how long I was quiet. Finally, there was a quiet voice.
"This is her mother..."
When he finished these, he didn't know that under the quilt, the clenched hand and the pain from his body, wave after wave, without reason, spirit, faith and life.
Only the fresh-keeping report in her hand, she pressed her hand on it, tightly, and never loosened
A solitary grave and a stone tablet fell in the rain.
A man in black came over with an umbrella. He put a bunch of flowers in his hand under the tombstone. Then he put his hand on the black-and-white photo. Only in the photo can he see that she, who was thin and only had skin and bones, was in love and was young and beautiful. Now the rest is just such a desolate tombstone.
"Finally, you don't have to suffer or hurt. Your mother is by your side. She will protect you and guard you. In the next life, you will still be mother and daughter, but you should treat her well, okay?"
When the wind blew, a bit of rain fell on his face. He twisted his face, but there was nothing in front of him.
There was only the desolation of the rain, and the stiff and cold name in the center of the tombstone.
Liu Liang.
"Liang Liang, that's what your family called you. When you were young, you must be very beautiful."
"You are crying for you, because the only person in the world who cries for you is one step ahead of you."
People can't come back to life after death.
Death is like a lamp out.
Some people say: "In your life, you have to die three times. For the first time, when your heart stops and your breath disappears, you are biologically declared dead; for the second time, when you are buried, people wear black to attend your funeral and miss your life, and then you are declared dead in society; and for the third time, the last person in the world who remembers you forgets you, so, You really die.
Who can remember you, who can read you, who can remember your name.
Only that soul is light, far away, and seems to have disappeared