Wen Xu'an spent three years abroad recording other people's stories.
Those people cried, laughed, were silent, and sighed in her voice recorder.
She learned one thing from their experiences: all stories that ended abruptly actually had foreshadowing.
It's just that she has never been able to find the answer to her own story.
For example, why Su Jianheng had to break up with her.
For example, on the day she left the country, did he come to the airport?
Later, she returned to China and sorted out a batch of old letters.
The letter wrote about the snow in the 1980s, about the scarf that fell on purpose, and about the people who waited for an hour at the door of the cinema.
It writes about two young people, half a city apart, using thin sheets of letter paper to get closer little by little.
One of the two people writing the letter is his father.
One is his mother, whom he has only met once.
Wen Xu'an suddenly understood:
Some people can get closer through paper.
But she and Su Jianheng were standing at the opposite door, separated by a few steps, but they seemed to be separated by an entire world.
"Su Jianheng."
"What on earth did you want to say back then?"
He looked at her and was silent for a long time.
So long that she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he said:
"I just don't know how to keep you."
Singer-songwriter × oral history scholar
Intention: soft spot