Cold Mulberry

I often dream of the boy I loved when I was nine, Hansheng, falling from the thirty-second floor. My older brother Sang Kui, whose face faded from my memory long ago, and Yan Hui, as impossible to grasp as a wisp of smoke, have nevertheless always been real parts of my life. Sometimes, for the things we love, we can be poignantly and recklessly willful. But Hansang always refused to tell me the truth. We were playing a game, testing each other’s patience with time and hurt. He lingered at the boundary between the story he had constructed and reality, as if caught in a bizarre dream. When he awoke, it would all vanish like smoke. Afterword: When I was sixteen, the only boy I ever truly loved left my life forever... From then on, I turned my grief into words, and this was the first piece I wrote for him. Whether it was boys’ love or romance, it was all a reflection of my profound sorrow. Reading it again now, the awkwardness and naivety of those days are proof that I once loved. I hope you, too, can understand the youth that nearly fell apart when I was sixteen. ~Fin~ Theme: