Lifts on the ice are weightless for three seconds.
In those three seconds, you gave me all your weight.
In the six years since you left, my world has always been hanging in the air.
It's not until you come back that gravity takes effect again.
It's about two people on the ice.
About how the side-by-side shadows broke one winter when I was seventeen, about the calendar on the white wall of the nursing home, about a person's dusk on the Charles River in Boston.
About those pills swallowed down the throat, and the unspoken "don't go".
About how wounds heal in invisible places, and how they are carefully touched when they meet again.
The sound of the ice blades passing by was very soft, soft enough to cover up the heartbeat. But some traces will remain, some weightlessness will be remembered, and even if some people learn to hide all their emotions in their smiles, their bodies will still remember——
That winter, you let go of my hand for the last time.
Concept: Lifts on the ice are weightless for three seconds.
In those three seconds, you gave me all your weight.
In the six years since you left, my world has always been hanging in the air.
It's not until you come back that gravity takes effect again.