Nine years ago, I was a cardamom girl traveling alone, and you were a handsome young man.
A couple who are constantly arguing make their encounter with each other.
We chatted at first sight, and the sunlight penetrated the thick glass of the train and projected it on your eyelashes. I see the nasolabial lines at the corners of your mouth when you smile, and the psychedelic sheen of your red beard in the sunlight.
I was so addicted to the scent of that sunny spring day.
Can you not remember that night, the night that exhausted the bloom of my life, the night that condensed my whole life to wait.
How young we were back then, naive to believe all promises. I believe that the promise of reunion after June is like an ancient star, and will not pass away like the wind in the complicated world.
Who knows, this parting is a long nine years.
Nine years later, you are a bestselling author and finally in my city. You are in high spirits in front of the reporter, and I stand not far from you, looking at you quietly.
- You are still old. Between the brows, the clear and cruel atmosphere of the past is less, and there is more bleakness and quietness in autumn.
We walked side by side on the narrow streets of the Seine, the sunset light pouring quietly on our shoulders.
I look at you inquiringly, but I also touch your tempting gaze.
Time passed by minute by minute, and the setting sun pulled our shadows.
Which second is mine, in your long life.
We have been talking non-stop. Environment, life, sex. Just like the steps we don't want to stop.
I dare not stop, I am afraid that each other's silence will create an awkward atmosphere, and you will finally reach out: I should go.
Do I still have the courage to accept another loss?
I Panasonic hair identification, although it is a bit pretentious, but I still let the blond hair drape all over my head in public. At that moment, I saw a flash of joy in your eyes.
Is it a trance to see me back then?
I ask you, have I changed?
Your gentle smile: You are thinner.
And I understand that I am old, my face is thin, and the corners of my eyes are filled with exhaustion and vicissitudes.
You ask me: what about me?
I laugh, you have wrinkles.
Yes, who can be the enemy of living like water. Will the bright state of mind of the year be as bright as ever after nine years of washing?
You said, if my grandmother died a week earlier or a week later, the outcome would be completely different.
Will it really be different. If six months later we meet as promised, fall in love and bond. Will it be like the couple on the train, quarreling endlessly about the inevitable trivialities in life, those chattering quarrels, will wear away the beauty of the first encounter.
When we first met, we were too young after all, and the nine years of precipitation made that love even more mellow. If it weren't for the nine years of your love that you didn't love, and my past to the limit, how could we ever understand the place that night played in each other's lives?
Forgive my tears and my hysteria. Nine years have passed, and loving and being loved is still just an extravagant hope. Those who come and go, those feelings that come and then leave, those vague faces are forgotten after turning their backs.
only you.
My love has come. It burned out on the night I met you, and since then it has been like a wet catkin, and the wind can't blow it.
I thought it was just an unprovoked encounter, a set of beating notes in life. And in the passage of time, I finally understand that I have been waiting and searching for nine years. It turns out that it is for today, that I can sing and listen to the song I wrote to meet you when we were parting.
I dance slowly to the music. You sank deep into the sofa, staring at me, not saying a word for a long time.
I am so quiet now. As if the plants in the valley are inadvertently blooming small and fine flowers, every petal is singing.
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