As mentioned in a few previous writings, I always feel like I have two completely separate halves, according to my paternal family. Half of careful calculations and clear analysis of the maternal family, of a family from the hometown only study but strive to become accountants, technical directors. Half of the artists (literally half of the season) inherit from the paternal family, when the house is full of directors, actors, and artists … I always think that the two halves are always parallel and inseparable. the ego, like the two sides of a coin, like IQ and EQ, as the ‘reason’ and the ‘sweet’ part, like night and day, as body and soul,
like me and ‘her’.
I used to think that I could separate my feelings like two parallel lines. To her, as I once admitted bitterly, we are a kind of soulmate. I am uncomfortable and confident meeting her, but when I talk about movie music or all sorts of things, I can spend the night without being bored. With her, I want to meet her more, although sometimes I do not need to say anything, just sit and hug her for an afternoon in a deserted restaurant overlooking West Lake, exchanging long kisses. If we talk, we will talk about family, about work, about the future. Practical, but bland.
It’s a pity that the longer my love affair with you, the more it felt like it had reached its limit. It is like a love that anyone will have to experience once in their life. Deep enough to last without any extraneous events, meaningful enough to go to a wedding if both have given up hope of finding the ‘he’ or ‘she’ of their lives, simple enough to happen to anyone with textbook processes: liking each other, then learning to flirt, then falling in love …
But that is not enough, for someone who has seen everything around him glow through a kaleidoscope, for someone who feels his heart is being pressed down thousands of thousands of waves when just by chance. a fleeting figure, for a man who had once understood the feeling of speechless dumbness as he looked into the bottom of his deep, clear eyes as if floating in the middle of nothing. When going through the most intense emotional stages, everything after that will always bring a single feeling: ‘not enough’.
Like Theodore, ever since meeting Samantha.
Many times, I wonder if I meet you before ‘her’, will things change? Will I peacefully walk with you on the long road ahead, or will I again listen to a call of some ‘sentimental’ deep within the ego, to pursue something far away? in the end, like Icarus trying to touch the scorching sun, as I am?