Under the Sycamore Tree, on the Way Home from Spring

I ran away from home for seven years. As soon as I left the airport after landing in China, I was blocked by a man in a dark gray windbreaker. The ends of his eyes were red, and he said that he had been looking for me for two thousand five hundred and sixty-two days, and that there was no room in his heart for anyone except me. But I clearly remember that seven years ago, I saw him tying a scarf on another girl outside the coffee shop downstairs of Huiyuan Shopping Mall. Until that day when we were squatting under the old paulownia tree and planting new trees, the Five Emperors Coin and Silver Pendant on his wrist and the one on my wrist made a perfect pair. It turns out that the man in black robe when he was seventeen years old was not an illusion. It turned out that the passerby handing tissues at the Paris subway station was hiding a secret. It turned out that all the misses were his long-planned "waiting for me to go home."