The girl I like looks like Mangosteen. Peel off the green and hard shell, the inside is white and soft, and occasionally you can taste a little bitter core. But I didn't expect that her core would be so painful.
Gu Suisui was only three years old when Lin Wantang left. She left her husband Gu Huaixu a piece of paper with only two lines of words on it: Suisui milk powder should be consumed until the age of five. There are three photo albums in the drawer of the bedside table. Don't let Suisui read too many, or he will cry. There is also a line of smaller words on the back - Sorry, the core of mangosteen is too bitter.
But she was wrong. Her core is never bitter.
From the autumn when she rashly handed back her wallet at the door of the university cafeteria, to the evening when she crowded in the sunset on the balcony of the rental house; from the wedding where she cried walking down the red carpet, to the spring when a family of three chased each other under the loquat tree; from the afternoon when she went to get the inspection report alone, to the evening when she called his name with a breathy voice - every petal she left for him was sweet.
After she left, he sawed off the loquat tree and planted mint on the stump. He taught his three-year-old daughter to say "Mom, look" to the camera, and put her hair, teeth, and videos into a tin box. He watched his daughter grow up like her, put on a one-shoulder white gauze and marry someone like him. The night after the wedding, he sat on the balcony, peeled off a mangosteen, and said to the brightest star in the sky: Your core is sweet.
More than twenty years. He'd been waiting his whole life for her to tell him - and she heard him.
Concept: Love is not possession, but a long continuation after loss. The real farewell is never at the moment of death, but at every moment when the living decide to live well with their memories. Lin Wantang left, but she stayed in Gu Suisui's smile, in Gu Huaixu's mint basin, and in every peeled mangosteen. The story ends with death, but it resists death with endless daily life - you are no longer here, but I tell you every sunrise in the rest of my life: you never really leave.