The wheel of time always rolls forward like a mighty army,
never stopping, never resting, surging forward all the way.
The autumn crushed by time stirs up fine, dry dust that lingers in the air
of this season, but it's already another autumn, and I seem to be still in
the same place, yet missing something. I've already gone far away.
That autumn, that one phrase - two words - "goodbye," slowly rose from the
depths of my heart, squeezed through my dry throat, and finally burst out
from the deepest depths of my repression. But the person on the other side
had already gone, and two parallel railway tracks slowly converged,
stretching endlessly to the horizon, leaving only a small platform with a
lonely person. So that autumn, it wasn't goodbye.
Another autumn crushed by time, stirring up the same fine, choking dust,
penetrating every crevice of this withered season. It's still the same small
station, still the same person. But it's no longer the same autumn.
A familiar scene, the one who bid farewell back then is now the one who
leaves, and the lonely platform has returned to its lively and noisy self.
Perhaps, another abrupt farewell will be staged like it was all those years
ago.
When a person picks up their luggage and goes alone to a foreign place, it
seems like it would be against their heart not to feel sad. After all, they
are leaving their homeland, the place imprinted in their memory, leaving
familiar people, familiar scenery... Perhaps, at the moment when the whistle
blows, countless tears will gather from some dark corner, and then hoarsely
surge out of the eyes... Perhaps, they will return next autumn, but they
will never return to that unforgettable and most heart-wrenching time.
The rumbling train slowly began to move, the heavy metal blocks began to
rotate and collide with the tracks, producing a deafening sound that
overwhelmed everything. Then, slowly pushing the string of huge metal boxes
to produce acceleration. The outlines of various landscapes constantly
appear and disappear in the train window, but the memories only get a
fleeting glance before entering hibernation.
I looked up at the sky, the sun hastily adjusting the light, coating the
golden rays with a shiny substance, shimmering with waves of light, and a
group of unnamed birds flew by in confusion... Love has always been hurt by
farewell, especially during the deserted autumn festival. |