Essays and Reflections: On the Wind and Rain
Whispering to the Wind
Written by Qing Ya (Shandong)
(1)
When the wind rises, the entire spring becomes a moving river.
A leaf falls and with it, season after season of decay. I felt you growing farther and farther away – was I mistaken in believing in the cycle of life, or was I powerless against the inevitable flow of change? I clung to falsehoods, adorning them with sentiment, but they lost all depth, and the sorrow that emerged was like fallen leaves in the damp, crowded night – repeating endlessly. The warmth I once cherished had been burned to ashes. I contemplated deeply, the clouds left no trace, but now I can only dream of returning to the past. The fresh green among the blossoms has become a distant view.
Days pass like birds in flight; they are silent, and neither a wave nor a glance leaves a trace. That deeply ingrained love has vanished into another time, taking with it your promises and drifting away with the spring wind.
When a feeling awakens amidst no one's waiting, there's a craving to savor every detail, tightening every fragile moment. I embrace solitude, feeling myself sinking deeper and deeper, while you constantly push me away.
Now, I use the past as medicine – this empty shell, once transparent, can still brew a cup of concentrated sorrow.
I once dreamed that you would pretend to play a role with me, even if you pretended to be my friend, sharing our joys or sorrows, I would conceal my true feelings, perhaps even adding exaggerated body language, just so I wouldn't be alone. I offered my sincerity, but you didn't need to reciprocate; you only needed to learn the part, playing along with me for the rest of my days...
In reality, the play must end, the curtain must fall, the music must stop, closing off the passionate cries, the fabricated plot. My tears and my efforts will be scattered on the ground.
The scar has faded from my skin, quieting the waves of pain. I've grown accustomed to clenching my teeth, bearing alone the burden of everything I couldn't carry. Though the pain remains, a dull ache, I whisper to the wind, sharing my heart's song – whispering to the wind.
(2)
Fluffy cotton drifted into the emptiness of the earth.
My heart was sharply tugged. I used my naive dance as a mask, pleading with the heavens. Caught between humanity's extremes, to whom do I confide? The exaggerated depths of the mask were serene, the sincere gaze toward the sky, forlorn and helpless, like a fallen meteor, cutting through the dull ache within my heart – was it a trap, or a burial?
Instinctively, I hugged myself tighter, realizing that the heartbeat hidden in the darkness seemed to strip away the body's pain. Tears flowed, like snow butterflies settling on my long eyelashes, peering into the deepest recesses of my soul.
Who was it that became extra sorrowful in spring?
Lingdong is a light that illuminated my face. Two butterflies fluttered, like a pain on my heart. In forgetting the past.
Dust. Scattered and gathered, near and far…
I was surrounded by the wind, whispering to the wind my joys and sorrows…
