Summer of the Floating World

If I can still remember that distant summer many years later, many, many years later. A sudden rain in the afternoon made the midsummer streets much cooler. On the boulevard, there were towering ancient trees with branches and leaves extending from both sides of the street and intertwining overhead, forming a lush and deep tunnel. The air was filled with the rich fragrance of trees mixed with rainwater, and there were dappled and bright sunshine on the wet water on the roadside. The sound of cicadas comes and goes from far and near. Then on such a warm afternoon, I met the boy on the street corner. The melodious chirping of birds came from the thicket of trees above my head, and the sunlight reflected the clean and clear smile of the young man on the resume photo. I heard the shouts of my friends in the distance. I agreed, folded my resume and stuffed it into my crossbody bag, and ran towards the other direction of the street. That was the first time we met, a distant episode that I thought you would never remember, a girl who handed you a stack of sunshine-covered pages on a summer afternoon. That year, you were 22 years old and I was 17 years old.