The Light That Falls on My Desk

A piece of white eraser was misplaced on the day of the placement of the sophomore class in high school. Zhou Ye was the one who received the eraser. Lin Su was the one who made the mistake. From then on, the eraser was placed in the middle of the two tables - whoever used it would put it back, occasionally rolling to the left, occasionally rolling to the right, like a small bridge. They wiped the locust leaves on the windowsill together, watched the pomegranate flowers blooming outside the window, and drank milk tea with blue straws. She wrote "Thank you" on the snow, and he squatted down and wrote "No thank you". She put the baby warmer on his desk and he passed the nail clippers under the table. Not all words were said, but all things were done. Later she went to the south and he went to the north. I have a box full of letters, and I always only write two lines on the back of the postcards. In the winter, she came to the north to find him. He handed her gloves while she broke the sweet potatoes, and the street lamps illuminated the white breath she exhaled into gold. Later she moved back. There was a rabbit pendant with crooked eyes hanging on the keychain, and she put the house key into his hand. I have been using the shared eraser for almost ten years, from the middle of the table to the middle of my life. On the day of the wedding, she put the rounded white eraser back into his palm and kept a new piece for herself. In the sunset, ginkgo leaves fell all over the river bank, and his pockets were full of autumn. This is a story about the "shared piece". From rubber to baby warmers, from straws to mints, from teenagers to whiteheads. Nothing earth-shattering, just the person on the left side of the window sill, blocking the sun for you every morning and waiting for you to sit down. All profound things are in the lightest movements.