I am thirty-two years old this year.
What is the concept of thirty-two years old?
Probably - I occasionally want to add two pieces of ice to the thermos cup for soaking wolfberry. Probably - looking at the looming fine lines at the corners of my eyes in the mirror, I no longer feel fussed about it. Probably - at a friend's gathering, we were chatting about the current situation. Some people were married, some were divorced, some had a second child, and some were still single. When everyone toasted, they smiled and said, "It's not easy." There was no complaint in their tone, only resignation.
I sat on the narrow balcony of the rental house, holding a cup of cold instant coffee in my hand. In the alley downstairs, a boy passed by on a bicycle with a girl with a ponytail on the back seat. The girl laughed loudly, and her laughter passed through the cool evening wind, floated all the way up, and got into my ears.
At that moment, I suddenly wanted to cry.
It's not because I'm sad, it's because I remembered that many years ago, there was such a bicycle, such a back seat, and such a person.
But that car, that back seat, and that person have all disappeared from my life. Like a stone thrown into a lake, after the ripples are gone, the lake is still a lake, as if nothing happened.
Only I know that there is an extra stone at the bottom of the lake.
The kind that can never be fished out.
