Gazing into the distance, love is elsewhere. Love is elsewhere. When loneliness has no support, I think of this phrase. Along the way, it's impossible to walk with him. So I want to escape. I imagine walking on a distant road, either noisy or quiet. Walking calmly and silently missing him. A kind of missing that is unrelated to love, even more unrelated to happiness. But I just can't stop missing. Life is actually not very long, someone once said to me. Yes, it really isn't long. Short enough to just finish walking a day's journey. The only emotion along this journey is missing, missing him. I don't give up, I won't give up on missing him. Whether he is willing or not. I can go far away, distance cannot block my thoughts, but it allows me not to be helplessly entangled in confusion. No one knows that I have met him, nor will anyone mention him. Unhappy, but without sorrow. Being alone is a choice, like drifting in a vast ocean, yearning for land, forever and fervently. Sometimes I recall his words and those brief moments we spent together. Fragmented memories, repeatedly recalled. Hiding these emotions in my heart, unwilling for anyone to peek, and there is nothing worth telling. I am willing, regardless of how. Regardless of how far he is from me, as long as he is happy, how could he not be happy. "Don't leave me, don't let me lose you." I remember murmuring hopelessly in the dark night, fearing his departure. Those days were good, or rather, youth was good. I spoke freely about what was in my heart. Now, my years have not yet faded, but I can no longer speak. Like a wilting flower, powerless, I watch time gradually fade. Carrying an increasingly weathered heart, in silence, I understand the meaning and preciousness of happiness better than anyone. Because of longing, because I have never received it. I know, no matter what, I can't move him. I can't touch a weathered era. His indifference is like the aging of time, real and powerless. I don't need to ask for anything, except for a lifelong lasting thought. Do I love him? I myself don't know. Maybe not, maybe already love to despair, like getting a terminal illness, except for smiling and waiting for death to come, no miracles happen. Those memories are real, the warmth of embracing still remembered. I seem old, like an experienced elder reminiscing about their beloved person in their youthful years. Smiling, sweetly, also with some melancholy. Turning around in the sunset. His smile is warm, always making me feel as stable as being home. For a very long time, whenever I think of him, I see his smiling face. Until one day I can't recall his appearance. Every time I think of him, it becomes that title, only for him. My heart does hurt, maybe he has long been tired of this title, turning around and calling others as he called me. At that moment, I laugh, coldly, but tears flow uncontrollably. In the end, we part ways in the passage of time. In his eyes, whether I leave or die makes no difference. He is older than me, used to partings in life. If I cannot possess him, then let me gaze from afar, in the distance where my soul can reach, hiding sadness. If not occasionally sentimental, I might forget the heartache behind me, unknown to others. Because it leaves no trace, because the passage of time, one day I may doubt its existence. Suddenly breathing hard, I remember, and can't help but cry, as if the most painful person, silently crying, until exhausted. Actually, this memory, this era, has no resentment. Perhaps due to persistence, perhaps selfishness. Dreaming and turning around, asking yesterday's self, can I, can I forget? If I say I've forgotten, that heartache is indescribable, and the disappointment fades instantly, empty, cold without temperature, so I become calm. The road destined to be walked, only persists, this road, can only persist. I say, there's no turning back, no compromise, only this one path. No matter what, I must walk till the end. At the end of the road, perhaps you'll appear, or perhaps you won't. What I look forward to in the years is just beautiful anticipation. Like a long wait, supporting me is the joy of your sudden appearance when I lower my head in disappointment. Life because of this persistence may be perfect or may be desolate. If you don't come, I won't be sad or cry, life becomes rich in this wait, carefully recalling, there's a beauty you can't imagine. I took a step, wanting to be slightly farther from you. Yet I think, if I could see your warm smile now, how good would that be.
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