“How silly that was, and even sacrilegious, if you could believe in sacrilege. Being kissed on a railway platform and told to report in a year’s time. If Joanne knew about it, what would she say? A foreigner. Foreigners pick up girls that nobody else will have.” —Tricks
What makes love love is the alienation you feel while in that relationship. Lovers are foreigners anyway, despite their nationality. In each other’s world, they are both intruders, mysterious and attractive because of that.
People with you from the same nation are your friends, not lovers. Without the transition from stranger to friend, a romantic relationship is not valid. The distance is also about time. Not necessarily one spend more time with another, the demystification goes further. Need to know his language; need to decode her gesture.
My parents said nothing when I tell them that he and I haven’t contact with each other for a while. Sometimes I still miss him, feeling that he is close to me. The truth, we both know, is that we don’t belong to each other anymore.
It is really hot here, we don’t call it a city, we call it rural area. Comparing to the enormous city we come from, it is nothing here.
My parents like this peaceful live, but they dislike the loneliness it brings along. I already get use to it, so most of the time I just sit in my armchair, staring at the ceiling in the unbearable hotness for hours, thinking about things I lost and gained during these years.
Exam should goes well; funding should not be a problem. The only thing I’m concerning about is the coming school year: the tight schedule won’t let me do anything further on my translations and writings.
There are something mysterious floating in the air, only belongs to summer time. It drags the time into a faked infinity, drags people sleepy and relax. Everything faded away returning to the present; every relationship suspenses into a philosophical depth. Hate, love, sorrow, and delight, all no longer matters. Past, future, yesterday, and tomorrow, all no longer exists.
I had dreams about us, constantly, but I forget about them after waking up.
It is too hard for me to say goodbye. I refuse to say it, even think about it. Shall I make a choice, to leave every thing here with this endless hotness.