Love at the Cosmic Frontier (Section 4)

Time passed through the leaves of the ancient trees of destiny, and as the wind reached the wasteland at the end of time, and that summer the twilight river did not consider stopping flowing,—— fifteen years, fifteen years, after such a long period of time that could not be said to be inhuman, one day, by chance, I saw the second half of the story of cosmic travel that I heard from the radio under the river tree fifteen years ago.

In the summer afternoon after a large rain - the rain grain is rough and primitive, reminiscent of the time and space sound of the rain falling from the eaves of the Han Palace in the past. The towering Cumulonimbus cloud looks like it was copied from an old time poster that had been hastily packed into bundles.

Armed with design drawings and dressed in a work suit, I rubbed shoulders with a group of people hurrying across the zebra crossing on the streets of the city's century-old downtown.

I don't know why, at this time, I am the only one who is walking in the same direction. Loneliness burns like eating melted chocolate and makes your mouth thirsty.

Because of the rain that had just fallen, the moisture and heat made the air exceptionally fresh, clear and clear. The various kinds of clothes flashing on the crowd, old and new, are also appropriately matched with everyone by the ethereal sky after the rain. It seems that clothes also have the original appearance that people usually forget.

Suddenly, there was a smell of situation from the distant seashore.

In the interlaced few seconds, a girl in a formal dress similar to mine in the crowd passed through the corner of her eyes, leaving me with an impression like seeing a fairy feather that never landed.

And I didn't turn my head to look at her.

The strong summer atmosphere ferments and swirls in the sky and the surrounding streetscape.

Her meticulously combed hair that shines with black jewels down to her shoulders and the collar of Juanxiu's chic white shirt touch me, as if I saw the early summer sun casting bamboo shadows in the bamboo forest in the mountains, which immediately evoked the low chirp of the mountains and stirred the heartstrings of the empty silence.

The sound of this fluttering heartstring appeared along with the image of the peach orchard in the story where the petals of the breeze fluttered together, and the image of a man wearing a golden mask and not stopping to run came to my mind.

When there is a sudden thunder in the clouds high above the earth, perhaps the canopy at the edge of the universe is blooming with nectar about the starry sky.

The flower language reads: Eternal love.

Admittedly, it is certain that the crowd, or the girl, has never met him before, and probably will not see him again. This moment of face-to-face, this fragment of me crossing the crowd and the girls, is just a casual rubbing shoulder that follows the usual arrangement of ordinary life in this city, just like that.

However, although there is a certain river called "Forget Worry" that has inevitably dried up later due to historical changes, at this time, in the summer evening of the juvenile era that has been forgotten in the memory space, the past that was collected under the grass trees on the riverside is like a long-lost rain cloud finally arrived, and cast a cloud shadow in the long-drought desert, and fifteen years later, the door of the house in the depths of his consciousness suddenly opened, and the story of the stars of the past surfaced like re-breathing into fresh and moist oxygen.

The universe, the spaceship, the survival, the adventure, the space and the her, the dreams and attachments of her youth, exploded like a waterfall that flowed backwards in my gradually cloudy mind.

I remembered when my heart was clear.

It was night, and I hurried back to my lodgings, rummaging through piles of old notebooks whose covers had faded and their style was long outdated—the movement was like peeling off the shells of the newly grown bamboo shoots on the surface. After fumbling through the room light switch in a disturbing darkroom, I finally found the contents of the second half of the broadcast story that I could not remember who had copied it, along with a doodle work I was good at, sandwiched in the loose pages of my notebook.

Finally, it is a story that has been "excavated" with a beginning and an end.

Along with it, there was also an unsigned comic illustration that was completely unknown how it was mixed into the stack of books.

The painting is depicted figuratively, as it is about an elephant lost in a continuous sand dune with only the head of an ant.

If you want to find one or two rare orbs in the accumulation of trillions of sea sand, the main point is to find the Dharma and have enough time, and if necessary, add inspiration from the sky. And the discovery of this painting is exactly what it means.

I looked closely, and the picture on the painting was specifically a teenager riding a speedboat in space, dressed in a light spacesuit, with a little freckles on his face, and a dashing and informal look. The face, which is presented in the form of a close-up in the foreground of the picture, with a clear silhouette and confidence under the helmet, is turning around and smiling. Behind him is a Jupiter-like planet.

"Space Express?" I suddenly realized.

"How did the copying of this unknown science fiction comic come to its dusty pile of books?" I wondered, "Who painted it?" ”

Searching the film of memory, I found that any scene related to it was difficult to reproduce in any case.

Admittedly, at that time, I could also draw a little, but I just couldn't reach the level of special excellence. At this moment, the question of whether the painting came from his own hand is already ambiguous and unanswerable.

I carefully examined the painting on the old poster of "Moon Sea Girl" that I forgot to take off on the wall, and vaguely felt that compared with the standard original paintings in the familiar comics of that year, the bangs in front of the teenager's forehead seemed to have a reverse fluttering hairline, the clean and beautiful whites of the characters' eyes were further enriched with a faint blue, and the airship's body and handle also added several oblique heraldic-like decorative lines. This kind of painting even makes people feel that compared with the original work, the firmness in the teenager's heart is more powerful and full.

The delicate technique shows that this copy seems to have come from a woman.

"Maybe there were people besides myself who liked Space Express at the time. It's just that the other person knows me, and I don't realize the other person's existence. One day, for some reason, the other party quietly stuffed the work I copied with my heart into the pages of my doodle notebook, and this note I have not opened since then. ”

What a sad speculation.

"If you had worked a little harder then, you might be able to remember who the author of the painting was by now."

I remember that there was a classmate in the class who had to stay alone in the classroom during physical education class because of his weak physique. It was a girl with some crappy glasses and no sense of existence.

I don't know if she is okay now, whether she is still as delicate as before.

I dripped a few drops of cool eye drops into my dry, red-blooded eyeballs, closed them, and so on.

When the excess eye drops are squeezed out of the corner of the eye, the touch reminds me that my memories are so delicate.

Listen carefully, outside the screen window, the summer night is hissing insects. In that place that is now impossible to go, it seems that the dry and cracked space is merging.