The Sound of Rain

When I woke up in the morning, I heard the sound of rain hitting the iron railing outside the window. I turned over and tried to sleep a little longer, but the constant chirping of birds made me think.

People’s moods are always low on cloudy days, like a storm brewing in the air. The gloomy sky and the fierce wind have already hinted that at the moment when the rain pours down, the emotions will be expressed vividly.

Because everyone has had stories, things that have been lost, and people who have never been able to pursue. There is an eternal proposition, which one is more sad, seeking but not getting or losing after getting.

I got back together with her once, but I didn’t cherish it. She had been waiting for me before, but after losing her again, I waited for her, even though it was useless.

The flowering period has passed, why should the bee linger? I still write a lot of words for her, but I am just moved by myself:

You are waiting.

You are silent.

Are you asleep?

Do you secretly think of me and whisper my name at night? Or do you sit in a corner that no one knows as I blamed you before and go to bed late? Do you still remember the letter I wrote to you?

You are watching, thinking, listening;

I am forgetting, hurting, begging.

You will think of me and laugh when you speak s/sh indistinguishably, right? You like to touch my hair and hug me, you will appear in every debate of mine, your eyes are shining when you look at me, you say that you have exhausted all your luck to meet me, you smile with your eyebrows bent, you say I love like a puppy.

You live an insignificant life on a coordinate on this earth, and you will eventually meet someone who knows and loves each other. I am guarding in a time that is not remembered or known by history.

These are all the states that you can describe in your time and space, in your years and in all dimensions.

What about me? Where am I?

I’m writing you.

I wrote countless letters and endless words for you.

I occasionally chat with her on WeChat. She said that she would occasionally think of me, but everyone understood that after losing it again, there would be no possibility. It was sung in “Mercury Record” “The person who is close at hand but can’t get close”.

I have nothing to ask for.

Cherish it when you have it, because once you lose it, it is lost. It is a destined loss, no matter how tortuous the process.

I suddenly envy those who have goals to pursue, such as unrequited love. Maybe they can never say they like it, but because of that light, they also make themselves a better person.

There is a sentence in “One Hundred Years of Solitude” that says this: If he has started knocking on the door, he must keep knocking.

It is explaining a truth. As long as people can still ask for something, it means that there is a footnote of life in your heart. This is better than the confusion and blankness of life.

One day, I saw her name pop up on my phone. She sent me a message saying that she was in town and wanted to see me. She said she had something important to tell me. I felt a surge of hope and curiosity. Could it be that she still had feelings for me? Could it be that she wanted to give us another chance?

I agreed to meet her at a coffee shop near my apartment. I put on my best clothes and combed my hair. I wanted to impress her, to show her that I had changed, that I was worthy of her love. I arrived at the coffee shop early and waited nervously for her to show up.

She walked in ten minutes later, looking as beautiful as ever. She smiled when she saw me and gave me a hug. I felt her warmth and her scent, and I wished I could hold her forever. She sat down across from me and ordered a latte. She looked into my eyes and said, “I have something to tell you.”

I leaned forward, holding my breath. She took a sip of her drink and said, “I’m getting married.”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest, as if someone had stabbed me with a knife. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. She was getting married? To whom? How? When? Why?

She must have seen the shock on my face, because she quickly added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to let you know before you heard it from someone else. You were such an important part of my life, and I still care about you. I hope you can be happy for me.”

I tried to say something, but no words came out. I felt numb and empty. She reached out and touched my hand, but I pulled it away. She looked hurt and confused. She said, “Please, don’t be angry with me. I didn’t plan this. It just happened. He’s a good man, and he loves me. He makes me happy.”

I finally found my voice and said, “Who is he?”

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “He’s your brother.”