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My Floating Life
Short Fiction我的浮生拾零
Life Is Not A Scrawled Poem
This is a collection of short stories derived from real life experiences. With a calm and gentle writing style, the author salvaged **nine frames of life slices** from the long river of memory. They are about the light and shadow of **his childhood house**, about **the unresolved confusion and clumsy warmth** in his growth, about **the silent ties of relatives**, about **farewells** in the chirping of cicadas on a summer night, and about **the glimmer of light passing by in ordinary streets and alleys**... Each "note" is an affectionate look back, building a bridge of contemplation between the vivid experience of "then" and the understanding of the years of "this time". There is no grand narrative, just **detritus carefully picked up from the folds of life**. The author uses a literary microscope to gaze at these seemingly ordinary moments, and through the subtle details of the human world, he can see the weight of time, the traces of growth, and the deep and simple echo of life itself**. Opening it is like opening a box of old things. I hope these "old things" with warmth and sincerity can also touch the similar scenery in your heart.
This is a collection of short stories derived from real life experiences. With a calm and gentle writing style, the author salvaged **nine frames of life slices** from the long river of memory. They are about the light and shadow of **his childhood house**, about **the unresolved confusion and clumsy warmth** in his growth, about **the silent ties of relatives**, about **farewells** in the chirping of cicadas on a summer night, and about **the glimmer of light passing by in ordinary streets and alleys**... Each "note" is an affectionate look back, building a bridge of contemplation between the vivid experience of "then" and the understanding of the years of "this time". There is no grand narrative, just **detritus carefully picked up from the folds of life**. The author uses a literary microscope to gaze at these seemingly ordinary moments, and through the subtle details of the human world, he can see the weight of time, the traces of growth, and the deep and simple echo of life itself**. Opening it is like opening a box of old things. I hope these "old things" with warmth and sincerity can also touch the similar scenery in your heart.