Who is IVY ？

Bilingual Blog- English version is down below

唰 ——唰 ——画板上会变出什么 ？

光晕，黄昏，樱花，小猫。都可以，因为那些都是她。

女孩没有蓝色那么忧郁，没有红色那么热情 。她是紫色的。

就好像晴天的河水，扔一颗石子！只要你仔细看迸溅的水花就会发现，水中的淡紫色随着光晕，在和阳光里的白互相挑逗，泛着点点银光。

也好像冬天漫天飞雪时的黄昏，转一个圈！天地间万物都被笼罩上一层温柔的光，犀利又平静。树会变成棕色，蘑菇会变成粉色，就连雪也会变成紫色。从地上捞点放在手心，像有了独角兽的魔法。

女孩没有夏天的灼热，没有秋天的萧瑟。她是春天，没有方向，只顾开花。

谁都拦不住，她可以把世界的缤纷花朵变成她的裙摆，把空气变成氤氲芬芳。

她喜欢在春天去看樱花树，风一吹，花瓣就以每米五秒的速度飘落。樱花的清新降落在手掌，谁说落樱不算是春天的第一场雨呢？花压枝，风吹发，包裹住心脏的，是这春天。

或许猫是她最好的伙伴。猫的眼睛里读取时间的永恒。

当猫咪在阳光下魅着眼睛睡午觉时，她也喜欢在咕咚翻身一躺，闭上眼睛将所有思绪从脑袋里赶出去，嗅着猫毛的气味，感觉自己也变成了猫的一部分。

她会觉得肚子暖暖的，从浅到深的被温暖的阳光刺穿，她会试着去适应那不同于自己的生命跳动的频率，她被允许把不加掩饰的把喜怒哀乐挂在尾巴翘高或是低垂的角度里，她可以冒险去偷喝鱼缸里的水，逃跑时还会让爪印上的水在地板上按下自己的梅花章，或许同样的路线多逃跑几次，就可以走出自己的幽幽曲径。

女孩带着点漫无目的的轻狂，却又深藏着一丝渴望被理解的孤独。她放下笔，走到窗边，看着风吹动樱花树。一阵风拂过，她闭上眼睛，仿佛听见了猫轻轻地叫了一声，那声音里有春天，也有她未曾说出口的故事。

（画的是：紫色的黄昏下，一只小猫正趴在樱花树下，它懒洋洋地眯着眼睛，而风吹过时，一片片樱花飘落下来，在猫身边堆积成柔软的小小粉色海洋。猫尾巴轻轻扫过地面，好像也被这场春日雨逗乐了似的。）

English Version:

Swish — swish — what will appear on the canvas?

A halo, dusk, cherry blossoms, kittens.

All are fine, because those are all her.

The girl is not as melancholic as blue,

nor as passionate as red.

She is purple.

Just like the river on a sunny day,

throw a stone!

As long as you look closely at the splashing water,

you will find that the light purple in the water,

along with the halo,

is teasing with the white in the sunlight,

shimmering with bits of silver light.

It is also like dusk in winter when snow fills the sky —

turn around once!

Everything in the world is covered with a layer of gentle light,

sharp yet calm.

The trees turn brown,

the mushrooms turn pink,

even the snow turns purple.

Pick up some from the ground and put it in your palm,

it feels like having the magic of a unicorn.

The girl has none of summer’s burning heat,

nor autumn’s desolation.

She is spring —

without direction, only blooming.

No one can stop her.

She can turn all the colorful flowers of the world into her skirt,

and turn the air into misty fragrance.

She likes to go see the cherry blossom trees in spring.

When the wind blows,

the petals fall at the speed of five meters per second.

The freshness of the cherry blossoms lands in her palm —

who says falling blossoms don’t count as the first rain of spring?

Flowers press the branches,

wind blows her hair,

what wraps around her heart

is this spring.

Perhaps cats are her best companions.

In the cat’s eyes lies the eternity of time.

When the cat squints and naps under the sunlight,

she also likes to flop down,

close her eyes,

drive all thoughts out of her head,

smell the scent of cat fur,

and feel that she has become part of the cat.

She feels her belly warming up,

being pierced by warm sunlight, from shallow to deep.

She tries to adapt to that heartbeat rhythm different from her own.

She is allowed to hang her emotions

— joy, anger, sorrow, happiness —

unhidden, on the curve of her tail,

whether raised high or drooping low.

She can take the risk of secretly drinking from the fishbowl,

and when she runs away,

the water on her pawprints presses little plum blossom stamps on the floor.

Maybe after running away a few more times along the same route,

she can find her own winding little path.

The girl carries a bit of aimless recklessness,

yet hides a trace of longing to be understood.

She puts down her brush,

walks to the window,

and watches the wind blow through the cherry blossom trees.

A gust of wind passes,

she closes her eyes,

as if hearing the cat softly meow.

In that sound there is spring,

and also the story she has never spoken aloud.

(The painting: under a purple dusk, a small cat is lying under a cherry blossom tree.

It lazily narrows its eyes, and when the wind blows, petals fall one by one, piling up beside the cat into a soft little pink ocean. The cat’s tail gently sweeps across the ground, as if amused by this spring rain.)