Time Long Past
A young boy fancy oversized K-pop clothes, blood-racing video games, climbing over the walls, on a barren hill, looking above the sky while drinking a bottle of one dollar water. He found joys playing big score over rusty rims, imagining himeself being T-Mac.
Once school was off, grabbing the beat-up bag, furiously, longingly, hurriedly, he run. He showed up in dim-light video-game rooms, rowdy basketball fields, and teachers’ offices. Youth is always enchated with endless curiosity and passion. Days march slowly like the north star saling on the night-sea, cheers, tears and yellings turbulating around its course.
Two years later, one figure over neon lights touched his heart, like sunlight touching the blindness, bright, joyful and dazing. He fancy holding her hand in a windy Summer day and drinking a cup of sago. Her messages became his seconds and minutes, his days and nights, his everything and nothing. He grew up. Change of seasons he started sensing, Rush to the Dead Summer and Ice Fantasy he finished reading. A pair of names is carved on a Camphor tree.
When Summer came, they broke up just as when Summer came they fell into love. It was a bitter call he made. Those wistful affection, wild dreams, sentimental poems came into his young mind. He learned to smoke. The smoke aired through his lung. He seldom talked, playing with puzzls quite often, playing clumsily.
Many things enthralled, many years passed by.
We met again during my long trip back home. A mid-age man, half bald and loosely dressed, was yelling at some student-looking one. I only recognized him until walked closely. I heard that he is living a rough, divorced and unkempt life.
Forgotten, may be the things he once fancy. In a sleepless night, will stars wandering over the pale sky echo the wistful memory of his youth? Time is a train, rushing through the moments of your life. You steps into one and you missed the rest. Never heading back, rail rattling, days faded away over that bright, distant horizon.