I know he will leave.
I knew it from the moment he looked up at me from the first row in the aisle. He wanted to go to the other side of the ocean and walk on a road as straight as a ruler, with no forks and no me.
But I went in anyway. It's like reaching out to the bonfire on a winter night, knowing that it will hurt, but still greedy for those few minutes of warmth.
He remembered every little thing I mentioned casually, ran downstairs to my house late at night when I had a fever, and texted "Cheng Wei, I really like you" at three in the morning. He gave me thirty-six negatives of summer - the orange cat in front of the ice cream shop, side by side under the eaves of the rainstorm, and the last hug on the mountain top. Every frame looks stolen, every frame has an expiration date stamped on it.
Later, he got a full scholarship offer, applied for a visa, and bought a flight ticket. I made a call to see if we were done here.
He was silent for a long time and said:
"Cheng Wei, you should also be good."
Then the phone hung up. Thirty-six photos, one not too much and one not too little. After filming that summer, it was time for us to break up.
I spent my entire youth loving someone who was destined to leave. The most painful thing is never separation, it is that we are both too sensible, so sensible that even saying goodbye depends on tacit understanding.
