The flowers bloom on the other side of the | - a letter written 20 years later

Lv Yanmei

I look at you with a lifetime of longing, you are the flower that blooms on the other shore.

- Caption

You said you were going to come to see me in the winter.

I, for a long time, was silent. A familiar song "Winter to Taipei to See the Rain" has been haunting, "If you meet and don't have to escape, I will eventually rub shoulders and leave." Meng Tingwei's resentment and entanglement brewed a glass of wine in my heart that made me slightly drunk.

Cold rain, poignant, lonely. Throughout the winter, the north wind was cold, and occasionally a snowflake or two drifted by. They didn't stay and soon melted away.

A silent winter, silently walking by. You didn't come...

In 2012, spring came, the birds were green, and the grass was verdant. An unusual year, the end of the world prophesied by the Maya. In my eyes, the years are like this.

I'm in the small town of Southwest Lu, and you're in the eastern foothills of the Taihang Mountains. Thousands of miles apart and twenty years of time. Think or not, feel free in your heart, no matter the vicissitudes of the mulberry field.

You text and say you'll come to town tomorrow. I am at a loss, afraid of living up to your hard work.

How many thousands of worries, thousands of turns of thoughts, just so gently, gently cut off, a few black square words, cut and nailed to kill the general, I have been bloody. In the spring, I am also full of flowers and leaves.

Trim your long, somewhat disheveled hair and apply it to your yellowing cheeks. In the mirror, I am no longer what I used to be. Suddenly, I felt that I hadn't loved myself enough for years.

The heart lake is like a mirror, and the sunset is like blood. The day to wait for the meeting, in the quiet and beautiful time.

I stepped on high heels and wore a red skirt that blew in the night wind. I wander the crowded streets, waiting for you. From south to north, down the river, and from north to south, against the wind. Let the wind blow long hair and turn messy into grass. Strange faces, flashes of indifference one by one. You suddenly appear from the tunnel of time and space, holding a black briefcase, and walk without hesitation. "Hey!" Greet me, the familiar voice mixed with the dust of the years, the white face, as faint as before, a faint smile. It was as if we were still together yesterday.

After a long farewell reunion, laughter sprinkled into the wind of 20 years, like a rain of flying petals, one after another, pure and beautiful and long. The experiences and current situations of male and female classmates appear in our words one after another, but they avoid the topic of you and me. More and more admiration for their acting skills, no matter how complicated the mood, can also be buried in the bottom of the heart, talk and laugh, do not show a trace.

How many days and nights of searching for the figure, suddenly stood in front of the eyes. I suddenly didn't know what I wanted. Perhaps the anticipation itself has become the norm, while the object has long since become illusory. Like Zhuangzi's fables, people are often attracted by the image and forget the truth that Zhuangzi wants to say.

I'm looking at you, your eyes flickering, afraid of being caught and unable to get out? I'm not an intruder, and everything in your world has nothing to do with me. The wind of the four seasons blows away the past, but it leaves those memories engraved in the heart. I also don't want you in reality to become one with the person in your dream, that's just a dream, my flower in the mirror, the moon in the water, the nothingness and beauty, the warm nest of my soul.

The next day, I walked with you through the bustling crowd. Roadside locust trees, stretching their dense foliage to the extreme, to please you. Between you and me, the distance is not far away, standing there, frozen into the heavenly graben of destiny.

Everything is not my realistic experience. You've been dreaming, for years. The West is where you are and the direction of my dreams. At night, dreams appear in a strange way. Sometimes, the ox cart travels slowly, my anxious heart is tormented, walking with people of all colors who do not know each other, I can't see their faces clearly, and I don't need words, across the rugged mounds, time travels through the wilderness, and finally, lost in the endless road. Sometimes, a person crosses the vast snowy field, crawling hard in the ice and snow, the body trembles, every pore is locked, and I move forward inch by inch, just to get closer a little bit, to find your figure. Sometimes, when you arrive at your residence in a dream, the woods are hidden, the crowd is covered, and you look back thousands of degrees, where is your shadow? I wandered in a strange place, waiting, refusing to leave. Buildings, low walls, crowds... Everything becomes a hidden prop for you.

Again and again in disappointment, I woke up, breathed a long sigh of relief, outside the window, the morning light spilled in, the poplar leaves were rattling, and the birds also sang the morning song. Reality and dreams are two dimensions, the gloom and darkness of dreams are the curtain of night, and the powerlessness and tediousness of reality dominate the stage of the day.

At this moment, you are standing opposite, and my dream has been stranded. I dare not take your hand, for fear that the fingers that have been sharpened by the years will be too rough and blaspheme the beauty of the dream. I didn't dare look you in the eye, for fear that humble love would be stabbed mercilessly by reality. Even more dare not embrace you, like a thief illegally possessing a treasure that does not belong to him, and his sin is unforgivable. The eyes were astringent, the tears had long been dried by the wind of the years, and the surging blood seemed to break through the confinement of the heart. At this moment, a heart full of holes is enjoying this painful animal.

20 years is enough to precipitate real things. Blow away the floating clouds, the clear blue night sky, the eternal stars twinkling with an immortal aura. If you shed too many tears for a person, it is because he is buried too deep in your heart, becoming a solid ice stalked in the flesh, and you need to soak it with salty tears, melt it with hot blood. You're leaving, just as I left. 20 years ago, when I graduated from college, you gave me a long-distance bus back to my hometown, a June day, overcast, and light rain. A black umbrella, wet and shrunken into a ball, was left alone on the platform. The luggage is loaded on the roof of the car one by one. I was silent.

The car started, and your dignified eyes blurred little by little with the rolling wheels. The road is bumpy, and the body is squeezed forward and backward. Thinking of being separated from each other, we can no longer spend time together, or even see each other again. Tears were like a river that broke through the embankment, hanging on my cheeks, and then they popped and dripped down, smashing my clothes. I quietly lifted my sleeve to cover my face and avoid the eyes of others.

Today, the willow branches of May are frantic and spread across the entire embankment. Break up, on the grass-strewn mounds of People's Park. Wave your hand and turn to each other. Suddenly, your shadow disappears from sight. Although before, I waited on the shore of time, a thousand sails passed, and the veins of the oblique light were struck.

I don't know if missing someone alone is selfish or pathetic? Whether to give the other party an unnecessary burden. Hidden bitterness and happiness, I returned with a full load.

No results, the best results. The boat of life bears the weight, and the wind and waves are helpless to sigh.

"It's better not to want to see each other so you don't fall in love." Cangyang Gyatso wrote such a verse, what is he repenting of? The reality is there. Nantaixing, the landscape has feelings, how can people be unbearable? However, you have worried that even if you stay together, it will be difficult to overcome the ruthlessness of the years, and the gap between the heart and the heart will be the end of the world.

Time is the most beautiful distance. The 18-year-old boy, pale, fell into the flood, gracefully into an ice jade flower, its name is the other side of the flower.

About author:Lv Yanmei, member of Shandong Writers Association, member of Shandong Prose Literature Society, director of Jining Economic Development Zone Writers Association, and contracted writer of cutting-edge prose platform. Over the years, he has insisted on prose creation, and many works have been published in newspapers and magazines such as "Prose Hundred Families", "Shandong Literature", "Contemporary Prose", "Contemporary Novel", "Chinese Workers", "Liaoning Youth", "Years", "Lianhe Daily", "Liaocheng Daily", "Jining Daily" and so on.

Submission email: [email protected]

One Point No. Scroll Wenyuan