The door at the corner of youth
Contributed by | Zhou Qi'er Finishing: Off-site Jun
Roses bloom on the street corner, long skirts flutter at the feet, and large purple flowers bloom the empty mood in summer. Hesitating in place, turning another corner, is his home. Whether he should or should not, see him.
Wandering and hesitating.
Will it be, you also have this mood, if a person means a lot to you, the thought of him, you will feel weak. At the moment of encounter, the time in front of us is like a door, separated between the past and the present. Figures wrapped in warm twilight and white school uniforms covered with green years weave back and forth in memories.
Heartache, excitement, timidity, and pushing away, I don't know what to say. And, a lot of times, you can't even be sure, yourself, if, should, push open that door. Subtle and spicy, as if a stone was thrown into an unfathomable mountain abyss, without a single reply. Knots that cannot be solved by themselves can only be entangled in the heart.
Seven years of time flew by, and my heart was like an electric dream, becoming the girl of seven years ago - the timidity is still there.
Stop here and don't dare to go on.
However, his heart was full of longing to see him again. How much I wanted to knock on the door of his house, to meet him, to tell him how I had been, to like him passionately and painstakingly; how much I wanted to say thank you to him myself, and what pride and happiness I had gained in those years, because of him.
Turn that corner.
In the courtyard, it was the figure of him who came out, and the strong vibration in his heart triggered a gentle retrospective. Like a warm sea breeze blowing from the distant Pacific Ocean. Moistened the eye sockets.
Recess into the corner.
His back was the same as it had been years before. It's just not so thin anymore.
Remember, that year of high school, it was a period of inferiority and cowardice, no exquisite face, no beautiful achievements, like a gray ugly duckling, obscure. At that time, there was nothing that could be done about the future, not even ideas.
You can only encourage yourself in your heart, just a period of dormancy. Dreams of words bloom in my heart. One day, it will be brilliant.
Then I met him in my lifetime. Even if it takes to exhaust all my luck. Lucky too.
Like the dazzling sunlight after the rain, it dispels the haze above my head and brings me light and heat. In the heart lives a prince, the source of all positive motivation.
Become brave. There are many careful things entangled. Just to get close to him.
On the way to school, I would take a book, stand under the banyan trees in the street, see him riding close in the distance, jump on the bicycle, slow down, and wait for him to pace past me unhurriedly, sideways over the left side of the corner of his mouth.
Lock the bikes together, one left and one right, gentle companionship.
Over and over again, pretending to be inadvertent, drifted through the corridor outside his classroom, brewing a gorgeous encounter, and behind the unskewing eyes, Peng Pan was surging with waves.
After class, he rushed to the parking shed, rubbed hard again, waited for his appearance, blushed and beat his heart, and never dared to look up, even if it was just to give a smile. Then one after the other, with his back to the setting sun, chasing his chase.
……
Those happy or sour plots are like the flat and direct scenes in Shunji Iwai's movie. Years later, I saw "April Story" and was surprised to find that it was writing youth for all the girls who had experienced a crush.
How did you fall in love with him? The title page of time has turned yellow, and a full six years have passed since the distant high school days.
His name was first noticed on the library's book name card. The shallow handwriting flowed smoothly, and the books I read, the scope was wide, I felt surprised, I had never seen such a broad boy.
Then there was that open class.
The second year of high school began the first round of general review, the content of the class just coincided with the first year of high school, as if on a whim, it organized such a unique big class.
At the back of the classroom sat a large row of teachers with lecture notes sandwiched between them, and the first time I attended such a large class, I saw the history teacher's hand with chalk trembling slightly. The air conditioning just broke, and on a summer afternoon, there was no wind, and the huge trapezoidal classroom was like a steamer, and the air stuck heavily to the seats, and even if they knew, they didn't want to make noise.
The teacher's voice struggled to travel through the viscous air.
"Liu Xiaofan, you answer this question."
There was nothing to guard against, the roots of the ears were hot, and in the classroom of a hundred or so people, the sound was so small that even he could not catch it.
"Well, it's a good thing to say, it's better to be confident, and it's better to be louder."
Warm sound. Looking up in amazement, I saw his smiling eyebrows and the friendliness hanging from the corners of his mouth.
That moment is encouraged, what energy is injected into the body. Liberated by the sweltering kidnapping of the mind. Brave loud voice. Hide your own thoughts.
Seated in an uproar of applause, he turned back to thank him and caught a glimpse of the familiar handwriting on his spread notebook, and the equally familiar signature. Senior in the second year of high school liberal arts class.
That's our first side.
Young hearts throbb too easily, and memories are always so long.
Without his permission, I took him to heart like that.
On his Douban, the long list of books listed under the reading column made me look beyond my reach, Hu Shi, Shen Congwen, Chen Yinke, Yasunari Kawabata, Kafka, Woolf... It can be seen that he prefers the literature of the Republic of China, a certain page of book reviews, he wrote, the Republic of China literature is the real everyone.
It is known that he is reading "Pillow Grass", kiyosho Nayan, an article by a famous talented woman of the Heian period in Japan. It is Zhou Zuoren's translation pen.
Not many people like her writing. Dull meaning.
Spring is best at dawn, summer is best at night, autumn is the best in the evening, winter is the best in the morning... The bits and pieces of life recorded by nagging.
I am glad that he also likes this kind of life, and also has a heart that is sensitive and close to life. Crystalline reflection of the love of life.
Sweep away all these books on Excellence Online. Read tirelessly. The friends around me are a little strange, when they are reading Baby Anne and Han Han, I am holding Yang Dai and Zhou Zuoren all day.
"Nostalgia began at a young age?" I laughed and said nothing, blindly sinking into the worlds he had visited, free to enjoy the fun of talking with everyone in the Republic of China.
He also loves English works, especially British novels, and dreams of one day being able to read through an English novel without relying on a translator. He wrote that each Chinese has its own unique beauty, and a good translator may be able to transfer this beauty to the best of his ability, but there are still some things that lose their original charm when transferred. One day, reading the original "The Complete Works of Shakespeare" was a very happy thing.
Balcony bench, holding a copy of Wuthering Heights or "Gone with the Wind", the aroma of tea lingering, the sun is just right. Impressed by the beautiful scenes he depicted. Jumping medieval circles surrounded me like spirits.
Positive answers, early reading and recitation, and the increasingly gentle eyes of the English teacher flowed with relief. Although it is still a long way to go before reading the original novel in English, the surging love of English has made me have a joy of looking forward to English classes.
I have always been grateful to have him in my humble and confused middle school years, like a gentle light, guiding me forward. Love of Republic of China literature. Love of English. They were all the most sumptuous gifts he had ever given me.
Later later.
Like the willows flying on the side of the ferry, the approaching of the college entrance examination renders a grand separation.
Flipping through his journal and looking at him, the goal is clearly moving towards the future a little bit, the Department of Foreign Languages of Xiamen University, a flower-filled tomorrow. Understand yourself and his distance.
He was overwhelmed by what I couldn't guess, and I was irrelevant that he couldn't think of. The young crush mood is equally bitter.
I think I am sad, with a hidden posture, pay attention to his every move, he is to me, just like The Little Thing about First Love, Ah Liang, but unfortunately I can only be a small water before I change, there is no way to become white, tall, and become the top student of the first year overnight, so I will never have the courage to stand in front of him and say that I like him.
But I think I was happy again, I could meet him in the gray years of my youth, and in the days to come, I would think back to the whole high school era, and my heart would be full of warm orange-red bubbles because of the corners of his slightly raised mouth.
Fading backs. Didn't catch up.
A thousand turns, suddenly cheerful. Unbridled sunshine. Finally, I stopped wondering if I should push open the door.
Once proud. Once happy. Ever get warm. Once got moved. Once sweet. Once spicy.
The memories of youth, let them be free in the world in the door at the corner of youth.
Like the brilliant roses of May, they don't necessarily need results.
When the fireworks fly, it is beautiful. But what does the quiet sky need to be filled with? Can't ask for it to be wonderful all the time. Well, forgetting, like remembering, is the best gift to each other.