I haven't thought about that time for a long time.
It's like he's never existed in my world.
In those years, I was obsessed with describing the scene when I first met him, again and again.
I thought I would never forget it, but now that I haven't thought about it for a long time, the memory has long since dissipated with the wind, just like the lit incense, everything is just dust in the wind.
If I had described this experience a few years earlier, the words that came out might have seemed more relaxed and pleasant. But it was only recently that I thought of writing, and by this time my words had become as heavy as lead.
When I met him, I was probably the age that Juliet met Romeo.
When I lost him, probably at the age when Romeo lost Juliet, I met him for the last time and he completely disappeared from my world.
Until now, I only have a vague impression of this person, because I don't want to resent, blame, be nostalgic, or remember too clearly. He is just a faint shadow in my world. He may have existed for a moment, but he didn't leave much behind.
Concept: Love is never a one-way transmission. What you deliver is never time, waiting, or details that are repeatedly described - what you deliver is yourself. Every time you get close, you lose a part of your soul unknowingly, and what is truly silent is that you no longer recognize the person who is returned.
This is not a story about loss. It is about: how a person loses himself on the way to another person; and how many years later, from those lead-heavy looks back, he can pick up the pieces piece by piece and piece them together into a complete person who no longer needs to go to anyone.