| The school year, this strange year, is at an end. Quintus is off in quarantine in Shanghai. Before he left for home, he wrote this “goodbye.” By Quintus Ni Let the wind blow; let the rain fall; let years change; quietly stay in the fleeting time; fearless to the world’s vicissitude. To the end of mountains and seas, the most unforgettable one, in dreams, there you are, keeping your faith. In a delicate world, with your promise to me, you held up the sky above your head, muttering to yourself with a few thoughts, constantly seeping, the sea of hearts from outside of the world. Now I am, looking at the sky blue, with drops of tears, waiting for the wind, yet fascinated by the wind, facing the shadow, but feeling dizzy because of the shadow. I’m sad but the sadness won’t decrease. I’m missing someone, but that person hasn’t come back. Looking back again, the road is far. Holding on to the broken dream, I still won’t let it go. A hot heart, with hot feeling, through the dreams of youth. Standing in this secular world, even if the mountains are high, I must see it all. I am not afraid of thick snow, long autumn rains, waiting for the warm spring, spreading the sun in summer, until once again into the covered, left edge of the dream. Hold a pot of tea, standing under the eaves. Look away at the falling leaves. Quietly watch the change of clouds. Carefully listen to the breeze, ringing through the screen window. Life’s hardship and honor become nothing important. However, in the dreams who would know time has a limit? Flying flowers scatter like smoke. In the hot air above the tea, even memories are like wisps of smoke. They emerge then disappear, gradually fade out, down the long road. When the scent that flows into the bone marrow is swallowed, from time to time there come waves of bitterness, like those deep and shallow memories, suddenly bright then suddenly dark. When I’m not paying attention and shaking the body of the cup, the tea leaves rise and dance, float and sink, trying to find their position. Perhaps it’s because they are not resigned to the calmness. I repeatedly stir the bottom of the cup. Isn’t life like this, go back and forth, until the water is clear, which can be known by one glance. But the life always twists and turns, when the world washes away the dust, purifies, creates a completely sober self, not because we lose too much, but try to find a best balance point that belongs to oneself in this lifetime. We are often walk in this world, afraid to be stung by this world. I suddenly no longer ask the truths. The fragrance of flowers is slightly light after the rain. Facing hesitation, counting the torments, beside helplessness, listening to the heart, in the end one discovers, the life of a person is nothing more than being ordinary. Looking at the tea turning over and over, around for a few circles, and back to the original point of purity. The truth is, after growing up, looking back, it has long been destined that people’s lives are like a process of running around a circle. The Last Editor: Katelin Slosky |
The Bird is the Word: Sophisticated Schoolyard Shenanigans
Quintus!
The mystery of words.
that you beyond oceans and years
touch me here, now apart,
waking me with soundless music.
calling me to dance with tea leaves
and steep in zest.
Thank you,
Sarkis