induction

 　　From the purple parts of the spiderwort, autumn stretches out its delicate tendrils. Ripe walnuts are picked, and figs fall from the branches. I gather the ripe figs and feed them to the passing wild pigeons.

　　Standing under the ginkgo tree, I sense the wind with the heart of a leaf. My meditative mind resonates with certain patterns. I hear the sound of waves, a vast expanse of deep blue. Seagulls fly over the crests, their arcs stretching long, tying a knot in my heart. The lingering pain is the fault of memory; I can only blame the deep imprints you left on my heart. Now, I feel no resonance from you.

　　Choosing from the seasons, the September wind is the warmest. You, then, gave my entire garden its brilliance. You are my sun, the sunlight tilting so subtly. You are the rainbow candy in my heart, your daily sweetness telling a story of gentle warmth with radiance. We are connected at opposite ends of the earth, sensing the waves in each other's hearts.

　　Your words echo in my ears again. You said that any interaction with me brought you joy, and your joy made my heart race. In my dreams, I wear a purple floral dress and run towards you, towards your sweet smile.

　　The tall buildings outside the window block my view, and I withdraw my gaze, immersing myself in a song. I see a crossroads, overgrown with weeds, where the image of our meeting can never be relived. It turns out that if life were only as beautiful as our first meeting, it would only be a regretful confession. My regret is higher than the mountain peak, but it cannot cross the sea of ​​your heart.

　　I think of our parting in October. This August, snow fell, and a chill seeped into the emptiness in my spirit. You were so resolute. Perhaps it was my fault, my willfulness fostering freedom, or perhaps it was my pride, unable to bear the sight of your affectionate smile for someone else.

　　Although you were still good to me, I ultimately lost your gaze from a thousand miles away. At that moment, you no longer looked at me. I hate the rainy October, I hate how long the fence was.

　　Breaking free, in the early winter sunshine, I stepped into a warmer zone of emotion. Hatred still festered, but I still thought of you, searching for a distant place I couldn't sense in the dead of night—your hometown, with its beautiful lakes. I once learned from you that those lakes had a name like the sea. Your words took root in my heart, growing into a melodious noun.

　　In my heart lies a lake, its vastness connected to the universe, its depth as wide as a century, with corridors spanning billions of light-years. In the eyes of a seagull, it ripples with deep blue waves. Its heart belongs to a mermaid. I have never reached its harbor, only gazing at a distant place through the rain curtain outside my window, trying to return to the past with a heart full of resentment. The withered petals tell me that each flower blooms only once, but I didn't cherish the scenery along the way, nor the people who admired it.

　　Slowly, I walked into the crowd, not wanting to think of you in my loneliness, not wanting to stretch out my so-called sensitive antennae in the dead of night to listen to the wind, to sense your presence. No, in truth, I sensed nothing; I was just constantly encasing myself in a bubble, often coloring it with your colors, involving the moon and the cat within it—I was truly insane! I hate my obsession, hate this inexplicable feeling, not the love people talk about, but a kind of lingering affection born from liking. I lost to my pride, defeated at a south-facing crossroads.

　　My inner turmoil continues, but in every split there is your shadow. So, I close all the windows, light the lamp in my heart, and in a wisp of thought, I recall your poem again. I wander through it, once more stretching out my sensitive antennae.