Helen, an American female writer, came to know by chance that a certain bookstore in the UK could offer some of her long-sought books at a very low price. She wrote to Frank, the bookstore owner, hoping he could help, and he didn't let her down that time—and he never let her down in the years that followed.
I have never seen such a rivalry, the hero and heroine are always silently monologues, living in different skies. The days passed by like this, they never met, they just relied on letters and packages to convey a deep understanding of each other and unspoken warmth and care. He can often guess her mind and find the best version before she makes a list of books to buy; and she has been sending him and his family in short supply during the British recession. He and her family and friends know and agree with this long and romantic friendship, and even some are jealous of their unspoken understanding.
It's just, just from beginning to end, they just communicated, didn't meet.
Many, many years later, Frank had passed away, and Helen finally walked across the street and stood in front of the bookstore, but the people were dead and even the bookstore was closed. She finally walked through the door and stood in the empty room, thinking alone about the books that were piled to the ceiling, the book lovers who were looking for them by the bookshelves, and... Frank's neat and tidy dress, and his A gentle smile.
She whispered into the air, Frank, I'm finally... still here...
It's such a warm conjecture, such a warm tone, such a warm smile, like a glass of wine that has been brewing for many years and finally unsealed, it melts when you drink it Thinking about it is enough to get drunk for a lifetime.
I deeply envy them, and I am fortunate to have a lifetime of friendship. Maybe each other once had secret thoughts that could not be fulfilled, but it is this kind of regret that has resulted in a more meaningful emotion. They haven't even shaken hands, but their souls have always walked side by side; they are always separated by a distant strait, but the warm communication has never stopped; that true love has nothing to do with the wind and moon, but it is undoubtedly realized forever. Does such classical romance only belong to reserved and conservative Britain, only to the traditional 1930s? If the story happened today and happened around, would it be just another online love relationship, and then gradually disappointed in the daily trivial relatives, and the beauty brought by that distance has passed? Or, will it cross the line without thinking, so that the emotions that can last for a long time will eventually become the prelude to desire?
You know, I've always longed for this kind of consonance, this kind of friendship between gentlemen. I'm such a greedy person, it's not enough to have someone close to me hugging tightly. I always hope that in addition to the worldly love, I can also have such a pure and clear friendship, like an extra gift from God. Sometimes, we have to face such a dilemma - the person who can read our soul best is not necessarily the one who is always with us; and spiritual tacit understanding and echoing may not necessarily be achieved. The perfect emotional life. That's not Platonic ignorance and stubbornness, it's just that things in the world often fail to do both, just like the food we liked most when we were young, but often cannot provide the necessary nutrition for growth. The choices in reality and the intuition in the soul do not necessarily match. In the era of fast-food love, the mutual sympathy between two people often points to love and desire without hesitation, but ignores the connection of souls, which may not be able to make up for the gaps and differences in reality. It doesn't actually burn for long. Love, although warm, is too sensitive, too weak and too hurtful, and it is far less long-lasting than friendship. After being in love before being sensible, it often lasts only a day, and it will only bring sharp pain and helpless sentimentality.
I remember there is such a story in Liaozhai: a scholar met a woman, and the woman told the scholar that if the two were husband and wife, they would have three years of fate, and if they were just friends who played chess and listened to the piano, they could get along for the rest of their lives. The scholar chose the former. When I saw this, I secretly felt sorry for him. Then I thought to myself, if it were me, what would I choose?
Maybe it's better to have such a touch of long-term. Like a candle, although it is not the warmth that can be held in the palm of your hand, it can illuminate the way forward and accompany it for a lifetime.
Is there such a feeling that one is only appreciative rather than possessive? Is there such a kind of emotion, plain as water, but it can flow forever? Is there such a feeling, like lighthouses facing each other in the sea, they complement each other but always maintain a reserved distance?
I often fantasize about you suddenly thinking of you on the street where the twilight has fallen, and a quiet smile flashes on my face; I fantasize about being in a brightly lit distance, raising a glass to bless you in the distance; I fantasize that many years later, I can walk in like Helen In your room, imagine what you used to be; imagine stubbornly standing at a distance to give each other care and listening, like the moonlight that cannot be touched but still caressed gently.
I don't know if there is such a long time in the world, and how should I be careful to have it.
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