On a snowy night when she was eight years old, she was huddled in the woodshed of a relative's house and heard cold words that cut through her childhood like a knife - it turned out that "being left behind" meant being "not needed". The time spent living under someone else's roof has ground longing into silence and forced tears back to the bottom of her heart. Only books are the glimmer of light she can hold on to.
That year when she was re-reading, her deskmate put a lemon-yellow star candy into her palm and said softly: "You are like a star, you may not be the brightest, but you must have your own light." That touch of sweetness and warmth became a treasure that she had not dared to touch for many years.
Many years later, in September, she reunited with a boy in school uniform in the corridor over an old candy wrapper. There were holes in his knees, like the quiet eyes of time, and her candy wrapper had faded, still holding on to the evidence of serious love.
At the moment when I bent down to pick up the paper, the two hearts with gaps recognized each other's light through time.
Intention: One glance at the starlight, a lifetime destination
