Want to write a letter to you I once knew

There are a lot of people, in our long life, as if they have passed in a hurry, have not had the time to say the words to them, they can only secretly write down when a letter can not be sent.

I want to write a letter to you whom I once knew.

01.

See the words, and show the letter well.

Do you count the years as I do, lamenting the fact that six years have passed without end?

The first year, I said goodbye to high school in the summer and welcomed college in the early fall. In a strange city, full of expectations and ignorant fantasies. This year, while high school is still far away, can still secretly know your news in the mouth of classmates, in a place 360km apart want to grasp everything about you, alone happy, alone addicted.

The next year, in this place where you also had four years of university life, I went alone to the place you had been to. I took the bus, took the subway, went to your school, looked at your college building, and imagined what it was like ten years ago. Time has changed, maybe now is not what it once was, but still want to take a picture to pause this moment.

In my third year, I still studied seriously, liked my major, and did not hesitate to choose to go to graduate school. For one thing, I like the atmosphere of that academic discussion, but also want to tell you that I have worked hard and want to become excellent, and then return to my alma mater, so to speak, as your student. It's also because of the words you once said, you said you hope I can treat the university well and have a hard time without regrets.

In the fourth year, with a diploma, and degree, left the university and went to another city to study. Just like four years ago, it's a new beginning.

These four years, I have no regrets, perhaps just your casual sentence, your duty sitting, but I always remember, always take it as a direction. I'm grateful for some of your encouragement, which became one of the few things I had to look up to and aspire to in college.

These four years, I have won big and small awards, have been to many places, looking at the photos on the phone but do not see the person who wants to share.

02.

I have a scale, I keep putting dream weights on one end, but also gradually lost the initial fantasy contained in the other end.

The fact is that it is a fantasy that will eventually be lost.

The initial ripples, brushed away by time, not will not undulate, just dare not undulate. The first thing you need to do is to get a good idea of what you want to do. These become a film that does not want to fade away, stealing my sleep, disturbing my thoughts, can not earn, can not escape.

In the fifth and sixth year, I entered into the busy graduate study, classes, experiments, and literature, in the more brain- and energy-consuming life, that belonged to your memory was pressed deeper and deeper.

Now, in this seventh year, I am writing this letter without the intention of saying goodbye solemnly, because there is no way to say goodbye. I once tried to forget, but it backfired. High school is supposed to be a part of a lifetime, and this part is mixed with your shadow, both deep and vague. I will accept, I will not discard, I let time wash away, let it lie very calmly. I hid those expectations, longings, insecurities, and losses.

I will remember the magnolia on campus, and you standing next to the carport in a blue T-shirt, reflected in the sun as a silhouette, slowly being worn away in detail, but can not fade away the outline.

I will remember folding paper cranes under the dim desk lamp late at night, folding a jar full of them, and secretly putting them in your car at the end of the college entrance exams, harboring joy and anxiety.

03.

I have dreamed countless times that you are on the podium, or holding the podium, or pinching the chalk on the blackboard, or holding the test questions and looking at us, real and confusing so that people can not distinguish between dreams and the past.

I still dream, too, of you solving the doubts of your classmates in the evening study, of you, joking in the classroom before class, if you randomly bumped into each other on a corner somewhere on campus, and of you in the office with your head buried in preparation for class.

I also always dreamed and always remembered, several nights in the hallway outside the classroom, that you were concerned about my fluctuating grades.

All of it was a silent drama, played out alone.

I became one of your passers-by, you were the sign of my buried youth.

Nowadays, I am still growing and maturing, without the so-called youthful flutter, without the secret Mimi's little tricks, and without the secret sourness. I think back on the childishness, youthfulness, and girlishness of that time, and also feel funny.

I've dusted off the past, no longer sour, do not have to look back, and do not complain about their occasional visits, only hope that you and I can touch the bright sunshine in the future, and thereafter well.