Shimmer

The dream I had a long time ago was sung by someone: From now on, we will live here, in an apartment not too big or too small. I will buy groceries and cook, and learn three dishes and one soup for you. Whoever finishes eating the slowest will wash the dishes. Also, occasionally when walking in the park, I see a couple walking with reusable bags, and then step by step, they become an old couple. . . . . I want to be the protagonist of the story, and I want to become an old couple with you. And it did. After my dim eighteen years, no matter how thrilling or peaceful it was after meeting you, at least, we lived it in a real way, not looking at the results, only the process. Just like many nights, you held me in your arms, and we sat in a small dark room, quietly watching the folded light. It was subtle, but it could soothe our tangles for a long time. . . . . . So even if you leave before me, I will still feel this way, really. Hold your hand and grow old together. We all said it and believed it.