Love autism - and with the days of Prokofiev（二）

I remember the year in early summer, humid climate like India and in my head that the color of dark dark sky, and it makes me stop the breeding of illusion: I was in a bowl of red soup in walking, day or night, throughout the In the light around the soup on the distribution of the same glossy red, dark, damp, the world becomes more and more like the container, breathing more and more distributed from the reality of the taste, then a bowl of soup, will constitute my from the reality, I do not long for a bowl of soup, do not refuse to drink a bowl of soup, but I am afraid that comes out of the hot flashes of red soup flavor, they are a large number of surging, soon will I drown, I felt suffocated, panic and flawless.

I was afraid of moisture is started from an early age, and they relapse in the summer each year, I was wet summer it is particularly sensitive to the strong. That summer, everything came so suddenly and quickly, so I often stand in the sun, no, is standing in a bowl of red soup, not sure all that in the end is happy or sad. My colleague, large 提琴普罗科菲 Nazarbayev end of an afternoon in the spring, the long-standing access to a small classroom music great tree-lined road waiting for me. He came toward me far behind him carrying a cello, a ray of a ray of the shoulder long hair floating in the summer breeze. I think we did without incident and was a courtesy to avoid it, then one of the go, but I avoid them, he got in there, motionless.

Remember the days before the continuous, he has been quietly handed me a small piece of paper, folded, and then mysteriously into the lesson plan to the Village. Class, I feel curious, what fun that is, open, see if those who love rain, I suddenly heartbeat and panic, I think that when I stand on the platform of the expression must be very flawless, but fortunately the students in the music keep working and sound problems, I will cover the sound of music was emotional. If you have been giving them the cold, they will safe. Can receive a piece of paper after a dozen or met with him on this road, he asked me to promise to allow and accept his love. In fact, those who initially received a note, I feel that life's dignity is violated, but I'm used to the habits of silence, such as iron are also integrated into other content, such as curiosity. I was curious driven off, the bottom line would like to know what his last.

That early summer afternoon, he got in the way I am about to go through.
: "There is sugar reward? I say so long."

: "There Tu Ke La."

: "Halo, so gentle."

: "Thank you."

: "What you package installed? Beauty knife?"

: "What you shoulder carry, sharpening tools?"

: "I carry the arts shoulders."

: "Brothers division of art."

: "Brothers are also art."

: "Copper, Iron and taste of art."

: "You see, in addition to money, I can carry anything."

He said that, I suddenly Puchi laugh. I realized laughed, immediately cover your mouth and hands, I'm afraid of drooling. Prokofiev, and I am standing face to face in the thin tree-lined road, in the afternoon, this road almost see figure, we stood deadlocked, I know, if I say: get out, Proko Fief not let open, he designed the scene has been around a long time, I said get out of the pointless, useless waste of words I Brown talks.