Mirror Flowers and Moon in the Pavilion in the Heart of the Lake

The reflection of the pavilion in the center of the lake is a pas de deux that never ends. Lin Xi from the art club always draws the outline of the pavilion in the morning light, leaving blank spaces to wait for the wind to fill in; Lu Yuan from the science competition class often holds a physics book to endorse, with the poem "holding the water and the moon in hand" written next to the formula. They are like flowers in the mirror and the moon in the water, separated by a layer of gentleness of the lake, performing the most hazy drama of youth on the bluestone. She drew his eyelashes when he lowered his head, and he wrote down the pencil she dropped when she had hypoglycemia; she handed her a lotus leaf bookmark as a letter, and he put mint candies to cheer him up; they crowded in the pavilion to take shelter during the rainstorm, and when their fingertips touched, they looked away in panic, like two fish that dare not swim close. Youth is a fragile mirror. When Lin Xi's father's orders came like a cold wind, when the lie of "for your own good" cut off the unspoken "I like you", the reflection of the pavilion in the middle of the lake was finally blurred. She went south with her sketchbook, and he clutched the drawing paper that he had saved for three months, watching her white skirt scattered like dandelions in the rearview mirror of the truck. Those blank spaces that "the wind will fill" and the sighs that "I shouldn't have stretched out my hand" have become unopened poems over the years. Seven years later, under the spotlight of the Southern Art Exhibition, in front of the giant spray painting of "Double Shadows in the Moon Pavilion", Lin Xi and Lu Yuan reunited. The little figures holding hands in the painting on the ice and the symmetrical reflections in the sunset finally made the illusion of flowers in the mirror come to fruition. It turns out that we can see each other's heartbeats. Even though years have passed, it is also eternity. This is a sorrow that cannot be obtained, and it is also an elegy for what we once had. The copper bell of the pavilion in the center of the lake is still ringing, and the fragrance of dried lotus leaves is floating in the wind. Those unsaid words are hidden in the blank space of the sketch book, like the moon in the water, which cannot be fished out, but always shines.