The uncontrollable heartbeat at the first meeting, the later attachment may be just because of what you want, and finally because of habit and obedience: what kind of happiness is comparable to witnessing your aging face with the years; The deep corners of the knowing stop quietly, listening to the sound of time passing by, and our shared memory finally grows into a towering tree.
"I've waited for you for 51 years, 4 months and 8 days." Florentino, with gray hair and a hunched back, stood in the sunny living room, opened his mouth tremblingly, and my tears welled up. This man who lives with a single mother has a delicate and sensitive mind. The fateful look 51 years ago was the beginning of his life's suffering: Fermine, Fermine, a charming girl with long flaxen hair, has taken root in his heart since then. Growing leaves, thorns, and flowers, so beautiful—and scars that are incomparably clear.
"Love is but an illusion," the beautiful Fermine always said. One day in the crowded market, she suddenly looked back and saw the face she madly admired when she was young, and she suddenly lost all feeling. "It's this moment, I don't think I love you anymore." She decided to leave, leaving Florentino standing there, as if from heaven to hell. This kind of passage, which even God can't undo, makes those promises that are forever in their hearts seem ridiculous like a lie.
You don't need a reason to love someone, and you don't need a reason not to love someone.
That was just the beginning of a long life. She got married, got pregnant, gave birth, and had children in groups, all with another man; her smile, her crying, her anger, and her coquettish hatred all bloomed for another man, and had nothing to do with herself. The happiest thing is to take advantage of the public events in the town to cover up the crowd, and admire her beautiful face from a distance and unscrupulously; at most, when passing by, take off her top hat and say softly: Good evening, Mrs. Urbino. In half a century of watch, the only thing that has the courage to say.
"I'll wait for her, until her husband dies." "But you're both young." "It's okay, I'll wait."
"I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just afraid of getting old and her husband looking more and more Young, and I look more and more haggard."
"Fermine, I've waited 51 years, 4 months, and 8 days for this day." "Love is just an illusion." "For me, it's real. "
They were finally able to talk together again after her husband's death, but half a century has passed. The two old men, withered and glistening, walked together to the bench in the garden, on which the "Fermine" he carved 50 years ago is still as clear as yesterday, the thing is, the person is not; God have mercy, we are still alive.
I am afraid she has long forgotten the reason for rejecting him at first, and occasionally sticks her head to breathe in the endless troubles of marriage, she will also imagine another possibility: if I married him at that time. . . But everything is actually an idea, jumping like a glimpse of light, and disappearing in an instant. She never imagined that they would come together again after 53 years, under the yellow and black cholera flag, floating alone on the long river cruise ship, clumsily and stiffly panting on each other's withered bodies.
"What is it? Love... oh, love, love is the hardest thing..." Fermine said.
"It turns out that loving you is my life's destiny," said Florantino, who had prepared the answer as early as 53 years, 7 months and 11 days and nights.
View more about Love in the Time of Cholera reviews
