We always meet at dusk——
He stood by the window of the old classroom,
The fingertips are stained with wet watercolor,
And I always pass by at this time,
Pretending to be casual,
Count the fluttering spots on his eyelashes.
Fifteen summers have passed
I found a stack of sketches in the attic
From 15 to 30 years old
Every picture is my back
But it looks more like me than the mirror.
The last page of the diary reads:
Today he finally looked back,
The light falls among us,
like a gentle boundary
Intention: love yourself
