Deep as if relying on each other, like clouds and rain; thorough as if everlasting, like wind and sand; desolate when apart, like stars and the moon; resentful when separated, like mud and flowers. Some feelings are destined to be ephemeral, some love can only become drifting sand in this life… —Preface
Used to the change of seasons from late summer to autumn, I added a jacket over my short-sleeve shirt. Wandering around the street corner, I let the shy cool breeze gently hide my face. The swaying shadows of trees and the ink-black leaves yet to wither seemed to enjoy the gentle massage from the small delicate hand reaching out to them. I softly closed my eyes, as if nature were me, and I were nature, and my heart kept shouting: I am the wind…
I am the wind. Yes, I stubbornly tell myself that I am the wind; this is how I think in my mind, how I subconsciously believe. Over the years, living a mundane life in reality, that curious, easily affectionate, blood-stained heart has long been through hardships and wandered across the world. These years, I have been watching, feeling how a heart bleeds, turns to stone, weathers, and finally becomes dust carried away by the wind, becoming part of the wind.
I am the wind, a breeze of detachment, a stroke of understatement. That's how I see it, because such a wind will not flutter at the reunion of mandarin ducks, nor grieve at the ending of life. Only because I am the wind, in joy I don't need calmness to restrain the delight that appears within; and only because I am the wind, in pain I don't need strength to support my heart.
I am the wind. My mission is to bring new life and end decline. I sweep across endless lands and rivers, witnessing verdant growth and boundless desolation. I should be without sorrow, without joy, without form. Yet, why can both new life and decay see my shadow? Why do the fresh green grasses, looking at me, reveal a trace of pity? Why do the falling petals show me a kind of gloomy compassion? I ask them, I am the wind, why pity me, why compassion for me? They do not answer, only remain silent. I begin to scold: I am the wind, a wind without joy, without sorrow, without form, why pity, why have compassion? Why must it be so?The wind began to rage, and the green grass everywhere moved uncontrollably under the strong wind, as if denying my identity as the wind; after the roaring, the wind gradually calmed, and with a crack, a petal fell from the heart of a flower, sounding so silent, falling in a way that could not be noticed, yet the scene was so familiar. Watching this, I, the wind without joy, sorrow, or form, felt a sting as if pricked by a needle.
The moment the petal separated from the flower's heart, I was shouting: I am the wind! I tried to make myself forget the image of the petal falling from the flower's heart; during the process of the petal falling, I struggled but could no longer make a sound; until the moment the petal fell, rain began to fall from the sky, and I sank heavily to the ground, unconscious… In my subconscious, my shouts turned into a question: Am I the wind?
I forgot how long it had been, but when I woke up I found myself crushed under something heavy, which was a flower stem. In an instant, I realized that I was not the wind.
In memory, in those years, there was once a petal that fell from the heart of a flower and danced with the wind;
In memory, in those years, there was once a petal that wandered in the wind until it decayed;
In memory, in those years, there was once a petal that, after fully decaying, had merged with the wind;
It is because of the rain that I remembered that I am actually not the wind.
Since then, I silently watched the flower stem grow a receptacle, calyx, corolla, and stamens, until it attracted bees and butterflies, while I remained silent.
One day, after the bees and butterflies finished collecting pollen and left, the flower suddenly bowed and greeted me: “Hello, I am a flower.”
I paused and suddenly felt my heart expand with clarity. I was relieved, and then smiling, responded: “Hello, I am the soil… ”
I opened my eyes, instinctively adjusted my glasses with my right hand, took a deep breath, and then exhaled. Actually, in this world, who can clearly define whether emotions and love last long, or who is right or wrong? Perhaps at one moment there is closeness, and at the next, things fall apart. What matters is not being able to get what you want, but being able to get what you can truly obtain. For this, I can crumble into soil, willingly becoming a grave for the one I once loved, just to dress myself in her wedding attire…
