Sleep

The old fruit had ripened to gold. Between an endless blue sky and blue water, the air carried the happiness of harvest. A length of dead wood crossed the lake and counted the wasted days behind me.

There should have been a continuous forest at my back. Sunlight passed through the branches and reached a cabin among the trees. I sat below them and let my thoughts drift.

The story said there was a portal behind one of the trees. Walk through it and you would arrive deep inside memory.

I saw a dim yellow sky, a gauze window, discolored glass, a broken mirror, an old black sofa worn through at the edges, a tea table covered with cloth and turned into a desk, and a yellow doorway. Evening was coming. The family would soon return. The number on the door was twelve.

I dreamed of standing on a stage with a friend, holding a certificate while classmates applauded. That year was eighteen. I dreamed of selling small creations outside an auditorium while an event ended inside; it was my birthday. I dreamed of walking alone through an old garden in what seemed to be rain, carrying a pain I could not explain. I dreamed of standing in the homeroom teacher's office, explaining the phone and asking only that my family not be told, because I could not lose the single line of contact.

Then I saw sunlight and blue sky, white dresses and dark clothes, balloons and flowers, people raising glasses and talking.

A voice let me become someone else and brought me to her. I was reflected in her eyes as I looked back. Warm light turned the ends of her hair gold; her white clothes blurred at the edges. I did not recognize myself and could not see her clearly, yet the sight of her filled the mind with warmth, delight, and tenderness.

But she was not the person I remembered. I did not know her.

The voice said that the past had passed. If the sadness could no longer be felt in the present, why keep returning to the wound? The figure told me: if she is not the person in your memory, why should the old pain govern this moment? Remember the wholeness before you. Feel it in every breath and let it become more complete.

Would you like to look once more?

The waves moved across the lake from far to near, as if the distant landscape were gathering its strength. I reclined on the sand and closed my eyes. There was warmth from the sun even there.

A warm current rose inside me. Between the unbroken blue of water and sky, there was joy.

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Originally published at Fengqing Inn. This version includes only light copy editing.