Many years ago, it was also such a late autumn evening. He and I were at the same intersection as a shuttle bus. The shuttle bus seems to be late, or it may just be my illusion. He and I are far apart on both sides of the intersection. It seems to have been waiting for a long time.
Suddenly, he spoke. I started telling my own story endlessly, which turned out to be told to me.
I was slightly surprised, but out of politeness, I listened carefully. It's just that I haven't looked at him from beginning to end, so naturally I don't know if he looks at me. No one can enter the darkened intersection. His neutral and crisp voice leaped briskly because of his youth, and I nodded, smiled, and said nothing.
The road between us is a quiet flowing river. The street light suddenly lights up, but it is a bit expectant, it is a kind of care that is uncertain whether it is happy or not.
waited for a long time, and he also talked for a long time. I am worried that he will be thirsty.
The shuttle bus finally arrived. So just like any ordinary story, it ends silently, and nothing happens again. He talked to me at that time, only because of a moment of loneliness, and triggered a short-lived enthusiasm.
such as fireworks.
But even if it is a firework, it still has a splendor that is beyond the ordinary for a moment, with a slight shimmering warmth.
This has become my unwavering ideal and romance. It doesn't have to have a story, but the warmth of turning around unintentionally burns in an instant, and the ashes of memories still warm my life.
Years later, every time this season, when I pass by that intersection, I still remember the boy, even if he is not in white clothes.
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