Will we all experience such moments, as if in the dark, hiding all the desire to talk, unable to hold any temperature. Even the sound seems to have become a distant image. We are just like this, waiting for the rabbit, just waiting for a long time for a light that occasionally lightly explores, and flashes across our eyes in an instant.
When I read "Love Letter" when I was young, I just indulged in the secret hearts of the hero and heroine, and fantasized about whether this memory would be rewritten if they met each other. But he never noticed that if it was rewritten, then this memory would no longer be a memory. It has only become a dispensable time affair, and at some inadvertent moment, it will be forgotten by us.
But now, we have traveled a long way, experienced the division and integration of life, encountered the warmth and coldness of life, and what we see naturally has a different coverage. It comes from the vast world of the world. There was a person who looked at you from afar. After going through the vicissitudes of life, he used his memories to light up the other's life, but he never asked for anything.
Just like the male tree, such a boy with bright eyes and silent, has the purest state of mind. He never said a formal word to Nushu, he played tricks on her, looked at her from a distance, stood up furiously when she was crying in class, was nervous after learning of her father's death, and rushed He wanted to comfort her, but couldn't say anything. Write her name on every library card, but never dare to say a word of love to her.
Just because of youth.
Because of his youth, he will have those purest feelings. You can feel grateful for a beam of light, a word, and an echo. That's why I love someone without expectations. Rejoice at her joy and saddened by her tears. I don't need any language, just looking at her makes me feel satisfied.
So be afraid.
We all wish there was such a person who could be by our side and talk to us. And this talk, even if it has been conveyed for a long time, will feel warm when it rings in my ears.
But if we leave, will this talk be discarded?
Many people mention this movie, mentioning the male tree, and they all exist as a meaning of a secret love. Throughout the film, the action performer in the eyes of the audience is always the male tree. He painted her portrait, and after that Proust book, he painted her with heart. She even found Bozi who looked similar to her as a substitute. This kind of love, forbearing the desolation, is like a drop of water, breaking the stubborn stone of the years, making people sigh.
As for the female tree, it's not that she doesn't remember the male tree, it's just that this memory is too old and has been covered with a layer of ash. Bozi's letter made her pick up this memory again. The young man's face gradually became clearer, and those bright youth chronicles also emerged one by one. She shares these recollected memories with Hiroko, but indulges alone. However, when she thought that this memory was about to end, she unexpectedly learned the news of Nanshu's death.
The boy who was repainted, the boy who was always watching secretly in the last row of the classroom, the boy who was standing outside her house, hesitating to say anything. Really, it just disappeared. She will never see him again.
And the rest of her life will always be filled by him.
Almost all of Shunji Iwai's films are about the meaning, the forbearance and hopelessness of love. This is also a constant theme of Japanese creation. Innate sensitivity and concern for life and death make them involuntarily incorporate these into their creations. And this kind of forbearance love is particularly evident in "Love Letter". Male tree and female tree, Hiroko and Akiba, male tree and Hiroko. Everyone's love is deep and silent, like a river, flowing into the source of time, making people unable to look back.
There is one shot that I will never forget. After learning that Nanshu had changed schools, the young girl turned her head and looked at the window filled with sunlight and breeze when she left the library. In a trance, it seemed that he was still standing there, holding a book in his hand, his side face was quiet in the light, as if he would raise his head at any time.
Such a long stare seems to use up all the strength. Time seemed to freeze silently before his eyes, leaving only the pure white shadow.
It is a pure and sincere matter that belongs only to young people, and it is gently swayed without being stained with a trace of dirt.
Are you OK?
I'm very good.
When Hiroko's voice in the snow overlapped with the seriously ill Fujii Tree, life seemed to have a new interpretation at this moment. It is no longer confusion, no more pain. It is the pursuit and strength in our hearts when we face the hopelessness and difficulties in these long years.
Is there such a person in everyone's life? He was your light for a short time, pulling you down a road, and then he disappeared.
It's like that letter that has nowhere to deliver, traversing our entire youth. In the detours of time, the shadows in the eyes of young people are condensed, and we can see the most hidden wounds in our hearts.
That is also ours, the last love letter.
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