Beautiful encounter in passing
In this city, during winter, gusts of cold wind blow through long hair. When the wind departs, the chill stings the skin, and the shaky shadows under the sunlight seem so bleak.
The past autumn was filled with abundant longing. Now, this winter carries a touch of desolation, yet it reveals its soul.
That Year
We had a brief encounter, like a first meeting, captured at the edge of freedom, simple and pure. That year, the leaves fell in droves, each swirling leaf carrying its own unique charm. That year, the ginkgo trees turned yellow, appearing and disappearing in the mist. Nalan said, “Life would be perfect if it were like the first meeting.” It was then I realized how wonderful first meetings are, how encounters are more free and unrestrained because of their unfamiliarity.
Through words, the true essence gradually emerges. Some say this is fate, while others call it an unconscious harmony. What did the autumn wind blow away that year? Was it the millennia of spring and autumn of the ginkgo tree, or the moonlight suspended for millennia?
That year, we became accustomed to the coming and going of fate, to people coming together and then parting.
Because she understood, she knew. This quiet girl clearly understood that life is a solitary journey and existence is a process of constant drifting. Every place and every person would become a station, a passerby. A pure heart, however, stripped away its inherent beauty.
Gradually, we stopped reminiscing, stopped looking back, and learned to choose what to remember. The things once deeply engraved in our hearts turned into forgetfulness over time. The stations we once wished to linger at, the passersby we once wished to hold on to, now we habitually thank them for their brief presence and offer our best wishes without trying to keep them.
That year, because of the experiences, she cherished more; because of the losses, she became more serene. Who can understand the mature heart hidden beneath the appearance and attire of a girl from the ’90s? Who can grasp the changes between gain and loss? Who can see through her eyes tinged with sorrow? What are her pursuits? What are her ideals? At the crossroads of clarity and ambiguity, can this quiet girl see the heart hanging in suspense?
Some say, no matter where you go, your shadow follows you. Some say, shadows appear every dawn. Some say, if you are well, it is a sunny day. That year, the shallow encounter, the beautiful passing by, the sorrow, the sadness, the desolation.
After the rain, when the wind stays, it turns into a shade; some sadness, some worry, long gone with the wind. There is someone who pursues a transcendent heart, a free spirit, accompanied by the roots of rose trees, shining brightly, stepping gracefully towards the horizon. This person is like a bright star in the vast night sky, so warm; like the shadow in the winter sunlight, so endearingly trailing behind.
You
Although you have said goodbye to that year
That year, a cold and lonely autumn
Quietly filled with commemoration
I don’t want to say we won’t meet again in autumn
Do you know, looking at the stars, making a long wish to the sky
So let’s promise to meet again in autumn
You brighten my world so much
You stay by my side like a shadow
You have the warm love of the moon and stars
You use your hands to show me happiness every day
You make me so happy
You make me smile every day
Having you makes the world so beautiful
Don’t rush to reveal love
Love is elusive
And sometimes, like the wind, you have no direction
What stirs is
Silently and tracelessly
You said, if you are well, it is a sunny day
Quietly, wishing for a soulmate till old age
That year, that autumn; this year, this autumn; in solitary time, weaving through the busy crowd, walking on the poplar-lined street, raising my hands, making a long wish to the sky; what color is the other sky? What is that person thinking?
Nalan said, “A lifetime, a pair.” Perhaps this is the best interpretation of love by the ancients, or perhaps it is another beautiful but incomprehensible dream, like a dream. Gently singing my own ballad, deeply engraving my own words, lightly describing the changes in people and events, a tranquil girl, understanding or not; a shallow parting song, cold and quiet. Who do you think of when it rains? When it rains, the resting sunlight can’t see its own shadow, so it looks down to find its own reflection, clear and distinct. When it rains, there is no shadow, no warmth, perhaps this is invisible longing.
In this lonely city, welcoming that long dream.
In the sunny afternoon, watching the falling leaves in the air, this autumn has passed, winter has arrived, and thoughts spread like the old tree roots by the road. This is a season for quietness.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
