I like to daydream,
staring out the window
at an unnamed flower,
the lush trees lining the roadside,
or a hurried figure in the
distance for a long time.
The feeling of
daydreaming is
wonderful.
Squinting my eyes,
I can gradually
see the unfamiliar
surroundings clearly,
as if those people and
things I once loved deeply
have returned to me.
I met someone who
resembles you amidst a
sudden summer rain.
Passing by the
piano room
where we once sweated,
standing under the small attic,
looking up at the brick-red roof.
A brand new sign hangs under the eaves,
while the old one that had faded overnight has disappeared without a trace.
Looking into the hall,
the original
wood-colored piano that was previously placed in the southeast
corner is nowhere to be found;
instead,
an old round table stands quietly there,
cluttered with miscellaneous items.
Standing in place,
my heart filled with longing,
those warm times when you
and I practiced the piano and chatted in the music room are gone forever,
even this piano school
that has been open for more than ten years has been forcibly converted into a restaurant.
Time is like dew on grass tips,
evaporating completely at sunrise,
leaving no trace behind.
A painful sigh escapes from my heart.
As I turn to leave,
I catch sight of a girl resembling you at the street corner.
She's wearing a clean white short sleeve and blue jeans,
rushing past me quickly.
Her deep chestnut
hair is loosely draped over her shoulders in the moist air after the rain,
and she carries an ordinary bag in her slender arm.
Suddenly,
I feel she looks just like you back then—a slender profile,
simple and clean clothes,
loose long hair,
and even her leather handbag all resemble you.
Even the way she hurries down the street looks strikingly similar to you.
Watching her retreating figure,
it seems as though I can hear again the sound of you tapping
out a rhythm for me beside me:
Tap, tap, tap—so crisp that it could stop all the air in the room to listen intently.
When I count carefully,
it turns out that we've been apart for three years already.
And on that day of separation,
you rushed out with a floral umbrella in your hands while pushing the heavy glass door,
your image still vivid in my mind as if it were yesterday.
In my memory,
you were serious and responsible,
yet gentle and sweet.
I remember how patiently you held my hand to guide my hand position,
with wisps of hair falling down from your forehead;
I remember how you sat in front of the original wood-colored
piano with your eyes half-closed,
your fingers dancing up and down on the black and white keys;
I remember how focused and dedicated you looked when we played duets together…
I also remember how your eyebrows would furrow slightly due to wrist pain,
how painful it was for you to decide to resign in helplessness,
and how tears shone in your eyes on the day we said goodbye.
Time flows on, and in a blink,
we've been apart for three years already.
Although I followed you to learn the piano for four years,
I never truly called you teacher because you were so young and childlike.
It's because you still laughed good-naturedly when
I called you by your name despite my stubbornness.
However,
I have never
forgotten that during those difficult and monotonous days of practicing the piano,
it was you who patiently taught me over and over again;
it was you who tolerated my ignorance and naivety with great generosity;
it was you who endured immense wrist pain to finish teaching me the last lesson;
and it was also you
who chased out into the pouring summer rain just to give me a floral umbrella…
In that sudden summer rain,
I met someone who resembles you.
But I know clearly that even if she looks exactly like you,
she will never be you.
You can only stand quietly in those long-gone years,
smiling at me silently.
At this moment,
I only wish that you,
far away in another city,
are doing well.