Small Things in the Mountain City

Perhaps everyone is born like dust, but on a yellowing afternoon, youth is always given the texture of amber. Those unanswered questions tremble in the wind as transparently as cicada wings - it may be the unspoken name at the end of the corridor, the route secretly drawn on the back of the test paper, or the letter hidden deep in the desk that never has an address. And in all the gaps of regret, the sun still shines generously. We will still laugh at a joke and cry, chase unknown fireflies on the playground on a summer night, and believe that we can reach the end of the world on the back of a bicycle. Those carefree moments never disappear, they just become the background of memory, so that later we finally understand: it is those ungraspable lights that teach us how to cherish every ray of wind that passes by.