Unnamed Lover

Where did the light follow that year? Lin Yin always felt that some people would never leave. For example, the back of the head that always sleeps in front of him, the extra pure milk on the corner of the table every day, or someone walking over to you when you are standing in a daze, saying nothing, just quietly watching the same sky with you. He was used to this existence. I'm used to getting a response when I reach out, I'm used to not being embarrassed when that person is next to me without having to speak, I'm used to having a kind of peace of mind that comes from the rhythm of someone's breathing next to me. But he never thought that after two people became too familiar, they would start to drift apart. It wasn't until much later that he truly understood that there was no sound when something was broken. By the time you find that there is only half a piece of thread left in your hand, the person on the other end has already gone away. But it's not like he left nothing behind. He left behind a whole shining summer, those clumsy and sincere approaches, and the process of a person going from ignorance to sobriety. Many years later, Lin Yin stood elsewhere and looked back, only to realize that the light that year was specially lit for him. He couldn't remember much about what happened next. But how the summer went, he remembered.