Niaoniao POV
The first words to escape my lips upon awakening were his name, and the last words I spoke before departing this realm were still a desperate call to him. It was as though my entire existence revolved around him.
They informed me that my husband has not yet arrived, and thus they granted me temporary freedom. I feel a sense of liberation but a deep emotional brokenness that surpasses it. I am dressed in warm, elegant clothing, yet despite the passing of seasons, As a ghost I have endured naught but heartache, carrying with me only fleeting, faint memories.
Each moment, each day, I yearned for nothing but the return of the love that once filled my heart, but the cruel passage of time only amplified the ache within. The pain was not merely a physical sensation but a torment that consumed my very essence, leaving me bereft and alone.
My spirit longed for comfort, for a glimpse of the past that once brought me joy. Yet it was as though my every step was haunted by the ghost of my own despair, and the warmth of my clothes paled in comparison to the cold emptiness that clung to my soul.
It's like i forgot what it means to be a human.
With my steps heavy and leaden, I crossed the bridge and paused there a while, feeling the gentle weight of my blue umbrella clutched in my hand. I had always been vulnerable to the cold, yet my husband's thoughtful gift of a blue umbrella provided me comfort. The color of the heavens, it was my favorite hue, and he gave it to me to keep me from succumbing to the chill. His thoughtful care and boundless love warmed my heart, but fate, or perhaps winter's relentless embrace, left me little choice.
My heart ached with the bitter sweetness of memories, the bittersweet memories of a love lost to the cruelties of destiny. I held the umbrella tighter, its calming presence a meager consolation against the biting cold that seemed to seep into my very bones. As I stood alone on the bridge, the weight of grief and longing weighed heavily upon my shoulders.
My heart skipped a beat as a voice, all too familiar, reached my ears. My fingers trembled with such weakness, and I moved slowly towards the source of the sound, my footsteps quickening as I grew closer. The distance separating us felt so near and yet, oh so far, as if his voice had been etched into the very fabric of my soul and my very being.
As I stood there, on the other side of where he stood, a vast icy river stretched before me. There he was, holding hands with a beautiful young girl, their faces lit up with smiles. He tenderly blew on her hands To warm her, a gesture filled with such tenderness and care. Every fiber of my being yearned for it to be me, for it to be my hands he held, my hands he warmed with such loving attention. But fate had been cruel, and in my despair, I wished desperately not to be me.
The sight ripped at my heart, each breath a struggle against the pain of witnessing the love I had lost. But I stood frozen in place, unable to look away, unable to tear my gaze from the sight that sent fresh waves of agony through my broken soul.
The tears streamed down my face, unheeded by the numbing cold that had overtaken me. My hands, weakened by grief and the chill, trembled and nearly dropped my beloved umbrella into the icy waters below. Just as the umbrella began to slip, a firm grip caught my hand, lifting it away from the precipice.
I gazed up at the young man from the earlier, Shushin's friend. He asked me, "Why are you crying?"
I replied, my voice quivering, "I don't know, either. Maybe I'm happy, maybe I'm sad."
He looked at me, his gaze meeting mine for a lingering moment. "You are happy because he is happy," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of understanding. "And you are sad because he is happy." His words spoke to the very core of my conflicted emotions, my heart torn between the happiness I wished for him and the aching sadness of our lost love.
My gaze remained fixed on my husband and his new wife, my heart a chaotic mixture of pain and sorrow. Yet, amidst this wreckage of despair, there was a bittersweet comfort in the knowledge that this word, "my husband," carried a tenderness and lightness on my tongue - a precious word I feared losing.
Each time I spoke this word, I was reminded of the deep connection we once shared, the unbreakable bond that had shaped my very existence. Despite the pain of seeing him with another, the sound of his title, my husband, still held a profound significance within me. It was a word that had once been filled with love and promise, yet now echoed with the hollow ache of loss and the bittersweet nostalgia of what had been.
My voice held a mixture of hope and resignation as I looked at him. "She is not truly his wife," I said, my words weighed heavy with the weight of the truth.
He looked puzzled, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked.
A soft smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I was engulfed by a wave of bittersweet nostalgia, memories of that day coming back to me with vivid clarity.
.....
Two years ago, Rang and I sat on the bed, our conversation flowing effortlessly. He had posed a question to me, "Miss Niao, do you really have a solution to everything as you claim?"
With confidence, I replied, "Indeed, I do."
He hummed in thought, then placed his hands gently over mine, saying in a more serious tone, "Suppose you were a man and your wife passed away, what would you do?"
I chuckled, a bit taken aback by the question. "What an unpleasant situation to ponder," I said.
Rang persisted, a hint of dissatisfaction mingling with his soft voice. "Please answer."
I conceded with a laugh, "All right, all right, I am a loyal woman. I would not remarry. I would love her forever, after all. Whether I am a woman or a man, I would remain true to myself."
He spoke with a slightly serious tone, "But society would not accept this."
I paused for a moment, contemplating my response. "Then I would take an orphan concubine. I would offer her a loving home and appease society, while still honoring my feelings for my beloved"
"What about moving forward with your life?" Rang inquired.
I met his gaze, my voice earnest as I responded, "I would not abandon the only woman I have ever loved."
....
My mind lingered on that day, two years ago, when my words had been spoken in jest. Was it true that he had taken my advice to heart? Why would he have acted upon those words?
As I tried to move forward, a question lingered in the back of my mind - why did I have this inexplicable belief that he had followed through on what I had suggested? The thought was almost absurd, yet it tugged at me, stirring an uneasy mixture of hope and uncertainty deep within me.
And then I felt a bolt of lightning strike my body part by part, because he looked into my eyes. That look explains why I love this man. He has eyes that shine brighter than the stars. His features were more beautiful than a bedtime poem. I loved the way he looked at others as if he were a lion and when he looked at me he turned into a butterfly. I found myself slowly, after knowing him, turning into a butterfly too. For a light butterfly or some kind of bird, he freed me from what I was and that's why I loved him.
His gaze fell upon me, a smile graced his lips, and he lowered his head. Then, he took his wife by the hand and slowly walked away. I couldn't tear my eyes away until he completely disappeared from view.
Tianshang's gentle voice broke the silent reverie, saying to me, "I think it's time for us to go, Miss Niao." His words startled me, yanking me back to bitter reality from the dream I never wished to awaken from.
As I watched my beloved walk away, arm in arm with his wife, a profound sense of longing and desolation welled up within me. I wished desperately to remain immersed in the dream, to linger in the illusion of happiness, if only for a while longer. Yet, Tianshang's voice brought me back to the stark reality, the realization that time was relentless and change inevitable. The bittersweetness of the moment settled upon me, a reminder that dreams, no matter how cherished, often gave way to the uncompromising truths of life.
He repeated his words again, a hint of frustration in his tone. "Love is indeed bitter, it seems."
I continued walking away from him, my steps light but heavy with resignation. "I don't know if it's life or love that holds the bitterness within," I mused softly. "But when the night descends, and he is by my side, all my worries fade. I'm lost in his eyes, his love, his very being – this must be love, right?"
"But why must love be so tangled and complicated?" I muttered, a hint of bitter melancholy creeping into my voice. "The sun is shining, the morning has come, yet all I see is the dark embrace of night and the solitary glow of the moon. It's as if nothing exists except him and the shadow he casts."
"I believe that for those who have passed on, death is their final destination," he said, keeping pace with me. "There is no need to linger in the realm of memories."
I nodded, my smile tinged with sorrow. "I will leave, but I'm not ready just yet... Please be patient and try to empathize."
As he handed me the umbrella, he spoke quietly, "I've been in your shoes. My choice was to look forward, never backward."
"Just because you don't understand my pain doesn't mean it isn't real," I whispered, my voice quivering with the weight of my agony.
My grip around the umbrella tightened, my knuckles white. "You chose to move forward, to never look back," I continued, my gaze fixed on the ground before me.
I looked up at him, my eyes pleading for understanding. "You can't simply turn your back on the pain and pretend it doesn't exist. It's a part of me, an ever-present ache that refuses to be ignored."
Tears streamed down my face, my voice catching in my throat. "You may think that I'm foolish for clinging so fiercely to memories, but it's all I have left. It's the only way I can hold on to him, to the love we shared."
"I cannot just leave him behind, as if he never existed," I choked out, the pain in my voice palpable. "To look forward and never look back would be to abandon a part of myself, to pretend that the love we shared was nothing more than a passing dream."
I stepped closer to him, my eyes stinging with tears. "Can't you see that my love for him is not simply a choice? It's a part of who I am, the very essence of my being. To forsake that love is to forsake myself."
A sob escaped my lips, my shoulders trembling with the weight of my anguish. "It may seem foolish to you, but I cannot just let go. I cannot forget the love we shared, the joy we experienced, the dreams we once held. To do so would be to deny a part of my soul."
But oh, perhaps I'm the true fool in this tale, ensnared by love so intense that I can't explain. Or maybe, just maybe, I'm the only one here with any sense. I envy that boy, for I've nothing but a tattered soul and a few bittersweet dreams.
Yesterday, I stood beneath the same umbrella in this very spot, yet my heart was far away, held captive by some nameless person. Today, I dream of the one before me, knowing he drifts further away.
My mind is consumed by thoughts of him – the memories that linger like a bittersweet perfume, the touch of his skin against mine, and the sound of his laughter, still ringing in my ears.
In my lonely solitude, when night descends and the world seems to shrink, I find myself trapped in the labyrinth of my regrets. Every second, every breath, every beat of my heart is a constant reminder of the love I've lost... and may never know again.
To God, when will my pain go away?