The old time, slowly flowing on the yellowed stationery. Piles of thin, rustling letterheads, carrying the most secret and beautiful memories of our youth. The spring flowers and autumn moon and the quicksand of the veins in life are expressed in the pen one by one, and sent to another person in the process of passing on and waiting. ——

He was at the same table

The old days on the letter paper were in high school, and I was at the same table as sweet potatoes.

When everyone else plunged headlong into the tension and regularity of high school study, we two outliers who had good grades but were not very obedient and well-behaved were transferred together by the head teacher.

It's rare for a girl and a guy to talk to each other like buddies, so, in the beginning, we couldn't have much fun getting along.

I don't know where it started, but the atmosphere between us changed. I noticed that he was no longer joking and making jokes as he used to. Instead, they would look at me meaningfully, and they would be silent for the whole class without saying a word.

Later, we were swapped. For one semester, we didn't speak, as if we were carrying a nameless breath, and no one was willing to compromise and speak, and no one knew where this inexplicable emotion came from.

Suddenly one day I wondered, how could we go from being familiar with each other to being so strange that we didn't say a word? I bought a notebook, wrote a message and quietly gave it to him, to the effect that I wanted to be friends again.

My offer of goodwill was met with a warm response. By mistake, when we changed the table, it became a front and back table, with me in front and him behind, and the distance was shortened again.

In the last semester of my third year of high school, I was never interested in studying, and I deeply felt the invisible pressure of the college entrance examination.

I remember one Chinese class, we reviewed Cao Cao's poem "Watching the Sea", and when we joked, I said, this poem has my nickname in it.

Sweet potato uses the permutations and combinations knowledge in math class to the extreme, and spells out all kinds of possibilities. I didn't tell him the answer in the end and he was frustrated. After class, he handed me the Chinese textbook with a letter in it.

This letter completely changed our relationship. He finally confessed all his thoughts.

And I, who suddenly "encountered" such a confession, panicked. I knew we would never be friends again, or maybe it was because I already had another boy living in my heart.

I replied to him with a letter, rejecting him in the most straightforward and cold words, telling him to concentrate on his studies and stop being distracted.

He still writes to me occasionally, and each letter is folded into beautiful shapes such as acacia leaves and heart-to-heart, and he always deliberately tells jokes to amuse me.

As for me, in the eyes of his buddies, I am an "illiterate" girl. It's so irrational to like someone, you won't accept him because of how good he is to you, you just care about what you feel for a while.

Because of the impact of this incident, his study state was very poor, and his college entrance examination was not satisfactory. We went to different universities and went on separate occasions. He drifted away from me.

After many years, every time I think back on this incident, I feel sorry for how brave and fearless he must have been to write to me to confess it, but I stubbornly did not give him any chance.

For the boy I liked, after going to college, I knew that I would never have the opportunity to meet and confess again, so I wrote a letter and sent it to him who returned to school to repeat his studies.

In my letters, I described what university life was like, the beautiful sky by the sea, and my little feelings about the twists and turns of my life.

He quickly replied, and the letter was also folded into a beautiful shape, and the handwriting was slender and flying, which was very beautiful. This is the only time we communicate. I knew what was going on from then on, and then I started another life at university step by step.

I still write to my good friend who went to school in another city, and to a boy who later became a boyfriend but had been in correspondence for a long time before that. The story in this can probably be described in a book.

That "love letter" to a girl

Many things may be forgotten, but I will always remember the autumn of that year. At that time, I had just entered junior high school, and the relationship with my strange table mate was heating up, and the teacher suddenly asked my table mate to switch seats with another girl.

It was already unpleasant to have to adjust to the new table, and the girl was crying as if she had been wronged when she carried the table and chair next to me.

The boys in the class gathered around to comfort her and accused me of not comforting her. How innocent I was, my impression of her was terrible: a disgusting, squeamish crybaby.

The relationship with the new table is in a very low state, no talking, no laughing, I leave my seat after class, ignoring her initiative and smiling face.

This went on for two months, and my attitude was beyond her limit. When I came home from school one day, I found a letter in my school bag. A pale pink envelope with a cartoon girl on it, with my name gracefully written on it.

The letter was basically about wondering why my attitude was so unkind, which made her feel helpless and something like that, and at the end of the letter, she wanted a friendly relationship between us.

Sensitive and melancholy age, hedgehogs like me. When I looked at her letter, I felt a warmth in my heart.

That night, I replied to her letter seriously, telling her that I hated her squeamishness, that she loved to cry, and that she hated being pretentious...... The next day, when she was out and about, she stuffed it into her school bag, pretending to be fine, but the drums were beating and roaring in her heart, which was no less exciting and exciting than the excitement and excitement brought by first love.

Sure enough, the next day, she wrote back and gave a serious explanation. As a result, we turn the misunderstandings, feelings, melancholy, and confusion that we are ashamed to express in words into words, share them together, solve them together, encourage each other, and make a life of loneliness and inferiority because our parents are not around.

The classmates who knew that we were in correspondence laughed at us, and they were already sitting together, and they were still writing letters, which was really slimy.

When I was in high school, we were in different schools, and we exchanged learning materials through letters to encourage each other to spend the Black July together. When I was in college, I was once dissatisfied with her neglect of friends because of love, and wrote a letter viciously scolding her for valuing her and ignoring friends.

She wrote to me that we grew up and had our own lives and growth, and that falling in love would not affect our friendship. Her words made me realize my own naivety and selfishness. She later told me that my "crusade" letter had made her cry all night.

We didn't stop exchanging messages until we graduated from college. I was a little overwhelmed by her initial initiative, but now I am grateful to think about it.

Thank you for the time when we were emotional and loved to write "love letters", so that the years left traces of youth. Thanks to her tolerance and generosity, our lives are more optimistic for each other.

Many years later, one of Fan Weiqi's songs, "One Like Summer and One Like Autumn", sang our story accurately.