Late on this autumn night in 2015, the room fell silent, and time was moving away from me step by step.

When I remembered what Lin Jun had told me at that time, but it reminded me of many vivid memories of Melly, my eyes returned to the picture of Melly on the table, I got up and walked closer, and gently brushed the dusty picture in the frame, leaving a smooth trail on it, like the water marks left by a small boat just paddled on the calm lake.

The sketch of "My Residence" on the wall and the oil painting "Sunshine in the Rice Field" also accumulated a thick layer of dust, and a sadness could not help but rise in my heart.

Time always wants to cover everything, and of course the most precious things for each person, until it is finally buried deeply.

What a painful thing to do! So I took the two paintings down and wiped down Melly's frame and My Residence in the frame with a damp towel; I gently blew the dust off "Sunshine in the Rice Field" with a mini air bag, and carefully and carefully swept it again with a soft-bristled brush.

Melly's frame and "Where I Live" were wrapped in canvas and tied with ribbons, and placed on top of the bookcase, where they were permanently sealed.

"Sunshine in the Rice Field" was hung up by me again! When there was only one lone painting left on the wall, I looked closely, and found only some disorganized oil paints, I took a few steps back, but the picture pushed me to the memory of the past, which had nothing in common with this painting, as if it was a signpost on the way to memory, and it exuded an incredible magic, it shook my heart strongly!

Memories of chaos poured out in front of me, and the sunshine, the breeze, the breath, and the scenery brought me into a wonderful situation.

It seems that this feeling and this scene have been waiting for me here for many years, and all I have to do is walk towards it!

After the rain, the birch forest and the lake nostalgically caress the moist soil on the shore, the small waves break again and again, the birds chirp and fly through the forest, the air diffuses the slightly bitter smell of moist fallen leaves, and the poplar forest in the distance outlines the dark green zigzag lines.

Melly's supple hair in front of her covered her ears, and whenever we had been in a break in conversation, she would wrap the end of a strand of hair around her fingers, and then let it go, and the end of the hair would soon return to calm like a brief note; Then she looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes.

Looking at each other, I saw my own shadow in her eyes, as if I had been submerged in the crystal clear water, this picture, like the image designed by the photographer in advance, I had frozen in this image; Even the photo looks like a clear spring, and I can immediately plunge into the spring water and melt there.

Due to the thick layer of fallen leaves deposited on the ground, our feet felt a little fluttering when they stepped on it, without any sound, and the surroundings began to fill with leisurely tranquility again.

The sky washed by the autumn rain was too clear for the eyes to gaze at, and the sunny autumn afternoon breeze slid through the sun, and I smelled the faint scent of Mélie's dress, but her own Saint Laurent perfume.

Melly took a pack of tissues out of the pocket of her sky blue trench coat, pulled out a birch leaf that dried her hand with cool droplets of water, and then grabbed my hand and placed it in my palm, and we looked at each other, didn't speak, just smiled.

She grabbed my arm and rested her head gently on my shoulder, and the breeze blew, and I felt the slight coolness of her wind-blown hair on my neck.

The clear scene was unusually clear, but if you looked closely, it gradually blurred until you couldn't see any details clearly, as if frosted glass had been added layer by layer from in front of you, and finally even the outline could not be seen clearly.

I didn't want to look any further, so I closed my eyes or turned my gaze elsewhere—the computer, the bookcase, the guitar, and the closed door.

But at this time, the clear scene that had just disappeared was reflected in front of me again, and it went on and on endlessly.

I turned off the lights and lay on my bed, like lying in a forest full of memory traps, so that my mind could only sink in it in any direction.

The ticking sound of the quartz clock's second hand when it turns, infinitely magnified in this silent night, I don't want to pay attention to the time of the clock, the clock, in my space is more of a pure ornament.

One day when the clock stopped, I put on a new battery to get it running again, so that I could hear the sound it made similar to that of something beating.

Since time exists all around us, all the time and everywhere, then I don't need to pay special attention to it, just feel it.

It turns out that every time I see the hands of the clock turning, I feel that it has taken away a lot of things from me, even what I have now will eventually be taken away by it, and I feel deeply saddened by this.

But now, the sound I hear is similar to beating, more like the pulse of the heart, and this sound brings the pulse to a state of no length of time, and the memory never stops beating because of it.