Women's Prison
I haven't seen each other for a few years, and my lover's voice and smile are blurred like exposed negatives.
Unexpectedly received a photo from the men's prison from her lover, which was recently taken in prison, and she was ecstatic in the women's prison. But looking at it, thinking about it, she even doubted her love with her lover.
Shortly after the Chinese New Year, Yi received another letter from me, which was the most special among the many letters, that is, the one with two recent photos of me.
After she was assigned to a prison block at the end of the training camp, she always received a letter from me every ten days and a half months, but she never received the photos I sent, and she never thought that one day he would send her photos. What's more, she hadn't seen me for several years, and the memories of my voice and smile in her mind could only be refreshed and maintained by the few photos I had taken when I was outside. Especially after the loss of my freedom, I could not even see the photographs, and my voice and smile, as I said in another letter, were blurred like overexposed negatives. Needless to say, she was overjoyed when she took out the photo in the envelope, and she couldn't wait to look at it when she held it in her hand.
The first thing she saw in the photo was the one taken outdoors, and she could see that it was taken under a large tree, because the sun was so strong that the light in the shade of the tree was very dark. The place is also very narrow, with a few emerald plants that look like monsteras, and at the feet are steps, above which is obviously the police officer's office, because there is a small sign above the door frame of a room with the words "correctional office" faintly visible, and on the other side of the body is a stack of sacks stacked very high.
Of course, these were all things that I noticed later when I looked at them over and over again, when she looked most eagerly, and couldn't take her eyes off my appearance. Probably because of the light difference, my face was dark, like that of people who have been working outdoors for many years in the unobstructed fields. I stood there with my head held high, my waist straight, like a soldier under review, but there was a warm smile on my face, and my eyes were overflowing with the warmth of the veins, which was the most familiar look for her.
Looking at it, she hallucinated again, as if she had gone back to the past, as if I was not in the picture, but sitting opposite her and staring at her with affection, her hands being gently rubbed by my big hands. It looks like I'm a little bit more fit than I used to be when I'm out there.
The other photograph was taken indoors, which is much more spacious, albeit indoors. I sat on the edge of my neat desk, and between my brows there was a look that seemed to be soaked in melancholy and sentimentality, and it seemed to be thoughtful, which was also the same thing she knew best, and which I always did when I was alone.
I have always been puzzled, why did I make her fall in love with me at first sight and fall in love with me all the time? In short, no matter what time it is, when she thinks of me, she will think of this situation and this look of mine. Am I captive her who is as simple as a white scarf and as naïve as a green mango? She often doubted it, even in front of her.
In the photo, there is a green bonsai in front of the desk, and there is also a pot of flowers blooming with two or three pink flowers on the desk, and the desk is next to the windowsill, and there seems to be a row of green ornamental plants growing on the windowsill.
Sitting at the desk, there seemed to be a scroll hanging behind me. In my letters, I mentioned that I am the director of the Prison Prisoners Committee, and I have mentioned the title of "office room" more than once, and this room is the office that I renovate every day. If that's the case, my renovation environment is really not bad, even the room in Captain Zhang's office is not so spacious, and there are no decent bonsai and flowers. When I think about it, I feel very happy in my heart.
When I read the letter next, I looked at it and completely changed my mood, it was like knocking over a five-flavor bottle, and I couldn't tell what it was like. I said that I learned from Sister Zhan's letter to me that she had received all the letters I gave her, and judging from this, her failure to reply to me only showed that her love for me had been completely submerged in the ruthless years. I mentioned again that she may have done something sorry for me after my accident, although then I said that it was also due to the hardships of the world and the ruthlessness of the years, and I can only blame me for not taking good care of her, and she will always be the innocent little whistle in my mind when I first met.
I actually said that love is "lost and regained"! Saying that she didn't reply to me may be "revenge" against me! I thought she might "tear the photos I sent into pieces and throw them into the wind" or "light a fire and burn them"! And said, "After all, we once loved each other deeply"! This made her feel that my love for her was still greater than before, and that we seemed to be far away from each other, or that although we were not far apart, the crack between them was getting deeper and wider, and we were all gradually becoming a chasm.
After reading the letter, Yi Muran stood there for a long time, only to feel empty in his heart and nothing. Looking at everything around me, I just feel that everything is strange, I don't know what it is, I feel meaningless, I don't understand what this letter and this photo will have to do with me? I even doubt that there really is a self in the world, and there really is a self that exists. When he smiled miserably and returned to reality, he found that his legs had become numb and unconscious from standing for a long time, and he dragged his body for a few steps before he gradually got better.
I was afraid that I would never write to her again, and that she and I never knew each other, let alone loved each other. I can't tell if I love or hate me, so how can you think of writing to me in this situation? Even if you want to write, how can you keep writing?
To be continued