唯美温暖的片头。。。
梦想的房子:我想要一幢白色的房子,挂着蓝色的百叶窗,还有一个房间可以看见整条河流,这样我可以在里面画画,围着整幢房子要有一大圈老式的围廊,我们可以喝茶...看着日出日落...
像所有的富家女与穷小子相爱的故事。他们相爱着，热烈地，疯狂地，激情地。在马路上跳舞，像人猿泰山一样跳河，男主挂在摩天轮上只为一个约会。……
像所有故事里的父母，拆散他们，藏了他的信，用自己的故事为前车之鉴，要她考虑清楚，做一个正确的决定。
像所有的浪漫故事该有的情节。成群的鹅（是吧？），睁开眼看见的小花，一座梦想的房子。
终于，他们又再多年后相遇。那些过往就不由自主地浮上来。他们度过幸福的两天，然后挣扎着，痛苦着。“What do you want?”一声又一声。365封信，她看得泪流满面。
这边厢是深情优质的未婚夫，那边厢是专情浪漫深爱着的初恋情人。当她扔下行李朝他奔去。我们一起兴奋地呐喊起来。选的是他是他是他。这是每个女人心里的选择吧？不为金钱，不为父母，不为责任，我想要的是你是你是你。所以我朝你而来。她耸耸肩的样子，像是无所畏惧。
结尾的一对老人，极大的亮点。同学看到他们在烛光中起舞，说，这就是所谓的幸福吧。爱你年轻时的容颜，也爱你的苍老和衰败。
读那些过往给她听，读自己的深情给她听，读他们的爱情给她听。就算她忘了，就算她可能永远记不起。我都会等你...
你觉得 我们的爱 能创造奇迹吗？
我想可以 正是因为我们的爱 每次都把你带回我身边。
你觉得 我们的爱 能把我们一起带走吗？
我想我们的爱 能让我们无所不能。
亲爱的
我爱你
晚安
❀----------------------------------------------------------------✿
Spontaneous Me
——By Walt Whitman
Spontaneous me, Nature,
The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I am happy with,
The arm of my friend hanging idly over my shoulder,
The hillside whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash,
The same late in autumn, the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and light and dark green,
The rich coverlet of the grass, animals and birds, the private
untrimm'd bank, the primitive apples, the pebble-stones,
Beautiful dripping fragments, the negligent list of one after
another as I happen to call them to me or think of them,
The real poems, (what we call poems being merely pictures,)
The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me,
This poem drooping shy and unseen that I always carry, and that all
men carry,
(Know once for all, avow'd on purpose, wherever are men like me, are
our lusty lurking masculine poems,)
Love-thoughts, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love-climbers,
and the climbing sap,
Arms and hands of love, lips of love, phallic thumb of love, breasts
of love, bellies press'd and glued together with love,
Earth of chaste love, life that is only life after love,
The body of my love, the body of the woman I love, the body of the
man, the body of the earth,
Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west,
The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and down, that gripes the
full-grown lady-flower, curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes
his will of her, and holds himself tremulous and tight till he is
satisfied;
The wet of woods through the early hours,
Two sleepers at night lying close together as they sleep, one with
an arm slanting down across and below the waist of the other,
The smell of apples, aromas from crush'd sage-plant, mint, birch-bark,
The boy's longings, the glow and pressure as he confides to me what
he was dreaming,
The dead leaf whirling its spiral whirl and falling still and
content to the ground,
The no-form'd stings that sights, people, objects, sting me with,
The hubb'd sting of myself, stinging me as much as it ever can any
one,
The sensitive, orbic, underlapp'd brothers, that only privileged
feelers may be intimate where they are,
The curious roamer the hand roaming all over the body, the bashful
withdrawing of flesh where the fingers soothingly pause and
edge themselves,
The limpid liquid within the young man,
The vex'd corrosion so pensive and so painful,
The torment, the irritable tide that will not be at rest,
The like of the same I feel, the like of the same in others,
The young man that flushes and flushes, and the young woman that
flushes and flushes,
The young man that wakes deep at night, the hot hand seeking to
repress what would master him,
The mystic amorous night, the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats,
The pulse pounding through palms and trembling encircling fingers,
the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry;
The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing and naked,
The merriment of the twin babes that crawl over the grass in the
sun, the mother never turning her vigilant eyes from them,
The walnut-trunk, the walnut-husks, and the ripening or ripen'd
long-round walnuts,
The continence of vegetables, birds, animals,
The consequent meanness of me should I skulk or find myself indecent,
while birds and animals never once skulk or find themselves indecent,
The great chastity of paternity, to match the great chastity of maternity,
The oath of procreation I have sworn, my Adamic and fresh daughters,
The greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate what shall produce boys to fill my place when I am through,
The wholesome relief, repose, content,
And this bunch pluck'd at random from myself,
It has done its work--I toss it carelessly to fall where it may.