Huan bought a new Pura X a long time ago, but she didn’t tell me.

我想给你写一首诗

不止是为了完成我们之前的愿望

而是从一开始早我就想这样去做了

02

我该如何描述你的特别

你对我而言有多特别

可能从那颗眉间跟着表情变动的痣

可能从阳光洒满着你会呼吸的毛孔

可能从你靠近我时那种原生的温柔

在遇见你之前

我从未想过

这个世间竟会有这样的爱

生生不息地缠绕

不止疲倦

03

你对我而言有多特别

不止是想在你的心里种一朵花

而是想把那些在黑暗中零散的光

拼成一整个星空给予你

而我竟没发现

你已经轻易在这片黯然的土壤

播种下许许多多的种子

现在早已生根发芽

当我们彼此心与心靠近时

那股能量开始显现

04

你对我而言有多特别

墙角绿意的苔藓

阳光穿梭的树叶

发光缓慢的云朵

离别对我而言

既悲伤又欢喜

相逢对我而言

既憧憬又迷茫

而当我想到

在地球的同一块画布上

只要我们一抬头

我们可以拥抱同一颗月亮

我便不会觉得孤单

05

我不知道这首诗写多久

而是当我一想到你

想到你在某一个经纬度行走着

我便会因为这份存在充满幸福

我知道

不是你对我而言有多特别

而是你本身特别的光芒

映射在我生命的故事里

如果可以

我希望在这不喜不悲的世界里

朱朱

我爱你！

日记

最后一周，我和朱朱是在离别中度过的。比想象中的好多了，至少没有一直哭。

这周和朱朱在一起我们似乎一直在和大家告别，从亲人到朋友再到我们。我和朱朱度过很多美好时光，哪怕周末需要坐很多的车，我从未觉得有多疲惫。每一次一看到朱朱就觉得很安心很幸福。

离别前一晚，峰哥送我和朱朱去机场附近的酒店，我们一路切换掉伤感的音乐。生怕眼泪掉出来，朱朱紧紧抓着我的手。到了酒店，我们相拥在一起，在抱紧彼此的那一秒，我们瞬间红了眼眶，眼里闪烁着星星。晚上我把头靠在朱朱的肩膀上。房间的灯光映射着我们两个人的身影在枕头上面。我清晰的看到了自己的鼻子和睫毛在闪动。

那一晚我们都没怎么睡着，朱朱会醒来看我，我也会抱紧朱朱。时间过的好快。如果没有离开，我们是不是还在白云区老旧的街道散步，感受周围的绿植，看遥远的散云。可我们不得不面对分别。

我们赶上酒店五点半的送机班车，我们带着疲惫一直拉着彼此的手，从没松开。

我们和往常见面离别一样拥抱亲吻，我看他大步走向安检口排队，我们相互挥手，在转过头那一秒，我的眼泪夺眶而出，尽管我并不觉得这是一场盛大的离别。

从机场送完朱朱回来，我再不敢在房间逗留，这个房间虽时间短，充满了朱朱和我的记忆。我立刻收拾行李酒店出发去地铁口去坐高铁。在路过一片绿荫，这里有许许多多的草丛在叫着。我的心暂时得到了平静。我不知道人生会有几个分别的会让我们如此难过，但没有关系，我们都会走向美好的未来。朱朱给我拍了机场那边的天空很美。已经有阳光照耀了。我这边还是阴的，但是马上也会有阳光照过来了。

这一路上，我在奔向明天，朱朱在奔向昨天，再奔向我们的明天。

Recently, our exchanges through letters have become fewer, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Most of the time, we’re able to openly and sincerely share our thoughts with each other. However, there are things that our clumsy tongues can’t quite express—words on paper still carry a unique power.

Lately, I’ve noticed that something seems off with you. I’ve asked you about it, and your response was that you’re worried about the upcoming separation we’ll soon face.
That’s something I think about every day, too. But with you, I’ve also detected another subtle shift—something about the feeling of love, or the lack thereof.

From our conversations, I sense that you might feel the love between us is fading. You’ve started to interpret moments—like when I don’t glance at you for a few seconds because my phone is in my hand—as signs that I’ve changed. And I, too, have noticed that our conversations aren’t as frequent as before, that perhaps you’re sharing a little less with me.

Recently, I’ve been making a conscious effort to go to bed earlier after a period of late nights. I think it’ll be better for both our mental states. But every night when I say goodnight to you, I can’t help but pick up on your low spirits.

In those moments, I wonder: Is she thinking that I don’t want to talk to her anymore? Neither of us wants to hang up, but the night is indeed late. You have to work hard every day, and if I stay up too late, I’ll feel drained and my eyes will ache. So, almost always, I’m the one who suggests ending the call. It seems like such a tiny thing, but I imagine someone as sensitive as you might overthink it.

Solving small problems is both simple and hard. If we were together, there’d be no room for unnecessary thoughts or issues. The difficulty lies in the reality that we can’t be together every day, and so these things arise.

Additionally, my recent semi-reclusive lifestyle means I might not have as much to share, but I still want to stay connected with you as much as possible, especially when you have free time. Your friends, studies, and other commitments are important too, and I always try to show full respect for them—but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.

I believe the bond between us hasn’t weakened—at least, not on my end. In fact, you’ve become the vast majority of my social time.

Change and constancy are both objective truths. We must pay attention to what shifts, but we must also hold tightly to what remains eternal.

Love,
Zhuzhu

May 30, 2025, Night

The night is quiet, with only the occasional whisper of the wind brushing past the window. The dim glow of streetlights filters through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls.

Time slips away unnoticed, like grains of sand between fingers. The world outside is hushed, as if holding its breath in anticipation of something unknown. Thoughts drift aimlessly, carried by the stillness of the hour.

Perhaps this is the essence of night—a moment suspended between yesterday and tomorrow, a fleeting pause in the relentless march of time.

May 30, 2025, night.

It’s been a while since I last wrote to you. Recently, I had been under the impression that we were in a very harmonious state. If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have realized the inner journey you’ve been going through. It’s essential that you share these things with me because these issues are like whirlpools; struggling alone, you might only sink deeper.

So, I’m glad you told me, but seeing you upset, I’m at a loss for what to do. The answers to these problems don’t lie with me, and you know I’m not one to offer empty words.

Reflecting on this, it seems the issue isn’t new. Even before we started our relationship, we had discussed and pondered similar questions. The question of being “worthy” or not has never been a real issue, especially concerning economic capabilities. If we truly have a deep bond, then it’s impossible for one to improve while the other deteriorates or remains stagnant.

If we love each other, any change in one’s state will affect the other, in every aspect. Take the economic aspect, for example. If I become wealthy or you do, the result is that we become wealthier together, not that a wealth gap widens between us. Conversely, if I or you face financial difficulties, it merely means we’re not as affluent as before. The same goes for abilities, insights, and other aspects—we are one.

Thinking about this, I suddenly realize that our relationship resembles true communism. We shouldn’t emphasize “you” and “me”; what we seek isn’t personal but collective. It’s normal to have disagreements and worries because perhaps our bond isn’t strong enough to fully merge us. But I believe we don’t need to overly worry or seek promises. We both know what’s real and what’s not.

Falling into these whirlpools is often dangerous, and it’s hard to escape alone. As merged halves, like the souls of Nezha and Ao Bing, we can’t ignore each other’s struggles. When you’re caught in a whirlpool, I will inevitably step to its edge to rescue you, and I trust you’d do the same for me.

However, I might also get sucked into the whirlpool, and then we might end up like XX and YY. How long the whirlpool lasts, where it takes us, whether it escalates into something else, or if we vanish within it—these are possibilities we can foresee. But don’t worry; even so, we shouldn’t face the whirlpool alone without each other’s knowledge.

Dear Huanhuan, I don’t know if my words have eased your doubts.

The question of being “worthy” should only be a concern for matchmakers when arranging who meets whom, not in our hearts.

Zhu Zhu
February 14, 2025

一早上很容易就混过去了。早上从时代假日那里直接打了个车直接来单位了，吃了早餐，上了个厕所，帮忙处理了一下文件，就到现在了。

11:09 帮楠姐恢复完去年的人事年报资料

很多时候可以睁一只眼闭一只眼假装不知道的，很多时候心里过不去。觉得能帮一把是一把，可是哪有那么多帮得过来的。就像每天回去路过遇到的老爷爷，我也可以帮他每天买点小东西，可我就那么一点钱。同理也是这样，我可以每天帮他们做很多事情，可我就那么一点时间。

11:34 可困了

昨晚没有睡好，感觉一直是醒着的，今晚睡好一点。

22:46 洗漱完

今天欢欢做了手撕包菜、炒牛肉粒，还有番茄意面。都很好吃，就是量有点大，哈哈，我俩好饱。时间过得好快，水城总是阴阴的，春天快来吧。

回到住处已经近11点了，好久没有见到欢欢了。每次见面都很开心，这次是我们在一起睡得最香的一次，中途没有醒来，欢欢也没有做梦。

中午小雪来了，然后我们一起去吃了住处附近的豆米火锅。一起回住处坐了一会儿，然后欢欢还去定了个KTV，我们一起去唱了会儿歌。可困了，KTV里面充满了昨晚宿醉的味道，很是难闻。

一个人回来后，清理了下待办清单，折腾了一会儿博客，煮了碗面条吃。

美好的一天，好好努力，欢欢也是。

Coming to my home has hurt you deeply, and seeing you in pain makes my heart ache as well. I’ve never believed that marriage must have parental blessings to be happy—happiness is something we define for ourselves. Our relationship, including the decision to marry, was made thoughtfully by the two of us. How many of our parents’ generation married for love? At least my parents didn’t. My father, in particular, carries more of a sense of responsibility than love. Perhaps his perspective has limited his ability to recognize or feel love, but that doesn’t mean our happiness needs his approval.

Regarding the word “disdain,” I want to apologize. Those words were hurtful, but my father wouldn’t truly act that way in reality. Later, I also realized he knew he was wrong—unfortunately, he doesn’t know how to apologize or admit fault, maybe because of his pride as an elder. If he truly behaved that way toward your family, I would choose to distance myself from him. I don’t expect him to accept us. I’ll consciously dismiss his unreasonable, negative remarks as just words—nothing more—and not let them weigh on my heart or make you suffer. No matter what happens, I’ll remain as firm as I was last night, standing my ground without hesitation. Whatever comes next, leave it to me.

I love your home, Zhuzhu. Your parents, your brother and sister—they’re warm and optimistic. That lively, joyful atmosphere is something I’ve never experienced in my own family. Ours has always been so quiet and cold, which is why holidays never meant much to me—until I came to your home. Here, I finally felt the warmth and liveliness of a family. I adore every one of them, and these past few days have been so comfortable and freeing for me. The only thing on my mind was how I could contribute.

During my time here, I’ve seen your mother rise early to light the stove, watched the children gather happily around the table to eat, and noticed the busy yet cheerful smiles. I’ve seen your father holding little Yubao with such joy and reluctance in his eyes. I’ve heard your sister affectionately call out to Dalong and Dapeng, as if catching a glimpse of your childhood—Manman and Ningning’s laughter and playfulness, so innocent and carefree. All of this feels like a distant dream to me, a precious experience I’ve never had. That night on the rooftop, bathed in starlight and mist, my heart began to long for this kind of life and beauty. Because of you, I suddenly see family life in vibrant color, breaking through the rigid black-and-white order of my own home.

Last night, seeing you cry and feeling heartbroken for your mother—I understand completely. When someone spoke poorly of my mother before, I felt the same pain. It hurts to think of everything she’s done for others in her life, only to be looked down upon or disliked because of one wrong decision. Even if it were my grandfather, I would speak up for her. Our mothers are ordinary yet extraordinary—kind-hearted, hardworking, and endlessly giving for their families. Their bright laughter is one of the most precious things in this world!

Love,
[Your Name]

Zhu Zhu, our future is our own, it lies within us, so don’t be afraid. No matter what happens, I will stand firmly by your side to face all uncertainties and challenges together. We will grow, progress, and move forward hand in hand, so don’t be afraid!

欢：

最近过得不是很好，总觉得自己像是一坛腌菜一样，笼罩在一种很压抑的情绪之中。

The rest of the words is in the paper.

Apr 16, 2024

欢欢

你好啊，希望你点进来之前有一些惊喜，点进来之后也是。这是我上个月搭建的博客网站，用来记录一些东西。之前的服务器过期了没有再续费，也没时间整理。我想将我们之间的信件放在这里是合适的，我设置了搜索隐藏，只有有链接的人才能找到。

前些天听到一首很好听的歌，当时忍住没给你分享，就是等到现在。不出意外你应该已经听到了。

你写字好漂亮！近期最开心的一刻就是拿到你的信件的那一刻。

看来你的愿望马上就要实现了，非常替你感到开心，照顾好爱自己的人真的是一件特别难得的事情，我一直都做得很差劲，哎。

我最近一直都感觉时间不够，效率也不够高，很是焦虑。这两晚都睡得很晚，晚上想着睡早点又担心想着一天都没干啥，想多学一会明天又会没精神。计划这个月末参加一次考试试试水，根据目前的情况多半还是不会过。老师一直在push我。

最近发现一个补充能量的地方——晚上的广场或公园，尤其是有许多人跳广场舞的地方。我可以坐在旁边自顾自的干自己的事情而全然不顾他们的眼光，就像我是他们的同伴一样，只是我没有参与他们跳舞。

最后，关于你提到的字少的问题，我想这压根不是一个问题。我们可以只说一句话，甚至是不说话。我们也可以待时机成熟时将我们各自记录多年或珍藏多年的东西拿出来分享，不要让我们之间的交流有任何的压力。

安！

Dearest Clare,

As I write this, I am sitting at my desk in the back bedroom looking out at your studio across the backyard full of blue evening snow, everything is slick and crusty with ice, and it is very still. It’s one of those winter evenings when the coldness of every single thing seems to slow down time, like the narrow center of an hourglass which time itself flows through, but slowly, slowly. I have the feeling, very familiar to me when I am out of time but almost never otherwise, of being buoyed up by time, floating effortlessly on its surface like a fat lady swimmer. I had a sudden urge, tonight, here in the house by myself (you are at Alicia’s recital at St. Lucy’s) to write you a letter. I suddenly wanted to leave something, for after.

I think that time is short, now. I feel as though all my reserves, of energy, of pleasure, of duration, are thin, small. I don’t feel capable of continuing very much longer. I know you know. If you are reading this, I am probably dead. (I say probably because you never know what circumstances may arise; it seems foolish and self-important to just declare one’s own death as an out-and-out fact.) About this death of mine—I hope it was simple and clean and unambiguous. I hope it didn’t create too much fuss. I’m sorry. (This reads like a suicide note. Strange.) But you know: you know that if I could have stayed, if I could have gone on, that I would have clutched every second: whatever it was, this death, you know that it came and took me, like a child carried away by goblins.

Clare, I want to tell you, again, I love you. Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust. Tonight I feel that my love for you has more density in this world than I do, myself: as though it could linger on after me and surround you, keep you, hold you. I hate to think of you waiting. I know that you have been waiting for me all your life, always uncertain of how long this patch of waiting would be. Ten minutes, ten days. A month. What an uncertain husband I have been, Clare, like a sailor, Odysseus alone and buffeted by tall waves, sometimes wily and sometimes just a plaything of the gods. Please, Clare. When I am dead. Stop waiting and be free. Of me—put me deep inside you and then go out in the world and live. Love the world and yourself in it, move through it as though it offers no resistance, as though the world is your natural element. I have given you a life of suspended animation. I don’t mean to say that you have done nothing. You have created beauty, and meaning, in your art, and Alba, who is so amazing, and for me: for me you have been everything. After my mom died she ate my father up completely. She would have hated it. Every minute of his life since then has been marked by her absence, every action has lacked dimension because she is not there to measure against. And when I was young I didn’t understand, but now, I know, how absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird. If I had to live on without you I know I could not do it. But I hope, I have this vision of you walking unencumbered, with your shining hair in the sun. I have not seen this with my eyes, but only with my imagination, that makes pictures, that always wanted to paint you, shining; but I hope that this vision will be true, anyway.

Clare, there is one last thing, and I have hesitated to tell you, because I’m superstitiously afraid that telling might cause it to not happen (I know: silly) and also because I have just been going on about not waiting and this might cause you to wait longer than you have ever waited before. But I will tell you in case you need something, after. Last summer, I was sitting in Kendrick’s waiting room when I suddenly found myself in a dark hallway in a house I don’t know. I was sort of tangled up in a bunch of galoshes, and it smelled like rain. At the end of the hall I could see a rim of light around a door, and so I went very slowly and very quietly to the door and looked in. The room was white, and intensely lit with morning sun. At the window, with her back to me, sat a woman, wearing a coral-colored cardigan sweater, with long white hair all down her back. She had a cup of tea beside her, on a table. I must have made some little noise, or she sensed me behind her…she turned and saw me, and I saw her, and it was you, Clare, this was you as an old woman, in the future. It was sweet, Clare, it was sweet beyond telling, to come as though from death to hold you, and to see the years all present in your face. I won’t tell you any more, so you can imagine it, so you can have it unrehearsed when the time comes, as it will, as it does come. We will see each other again, Clare. Until then, live, fully, present in the world, which is so beautiful.

It’s dark, now, and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.

Henry