Hello, I took the liberty of writing this letter to you, and I'm sorry about that. I'm the owner of the seagull cafe, the man who sits on the sofa by the counter all day. As for the reason for this letter, I will take my time.

early summer

One early summer night, the summer heat escaped into the breeze and mixed with the wind. On Yun Qi Road in front of the cafe, nearby residents occasionally take a leisurely walk, and the street lamps lengthen their shadows. You pushed the door and came in, with a refreshing breath of summer, a simple costume, long black hair covered softly, and an elegant face. You ordered a cup of espresso, went to the bookshelf to search for books, and your face was close. When the coffee is served, you have sat down and quietly looked at a page of the book. I glanced at it and it read:

Sidheim manor,

Neil pique,

Cibran

1931June 29th

Cisco Smith:

……

The letter from Robert Frobisher, a young British composer in Cloud Map, is my favorite part of this book. He said that healthy people can't understand the evacuated incomplete people. This talented person, with a perfect soul and spiritual companion, Cisco Smith, created a unique cloud sextet. What a happy man! I admire him, even if I can only make fireworks that dissipate in the atmosphere, I will willingly spend my life in order to bloom in the dark night sky.

I didn't use any code words here, Miss Nanhui. In life, I tend to integrate myself into some kind of protective force. I don't seem to have really loved a woman (at best, I have a good feeling, under the action of hormones). To associate with them is like walking along a road aimlessly with everyone, but I don't know where to go. In order to avoid the suspicion of "frivolous", I'd better be a lone ranger. Choosing the most convenient survival philosophy to shape the purest personality system is precisely to avoid "painful" self-knowledge. It's like I took time out of myself so easily. I willingly hid in empty armor, so I mistreated myself and continued.

You always come to Seagull Cafe to read books on Friday nights or weekends. Every time I bring you coffee, I will see you quietly reading Sidheim's letter, one date at a time, and then reading other books. In this way, day by day, until all the letters are read, and then start from the beginning. Why are you doing this? Will you be moved again and again by the phrase "You will shake your head with an objection, Cisco Smith, I know, but you will also smile, which is why I like you"?

Next to the French window is your usual seat, and I can just see you. On a sunny day, you look very light and shallow, as if you will disappear if you are not careful. It's hard to express my inner feelings at this time. I don't know, miss Nanhui, your silent, faint and consistent insistence on something has made me stare.

autumn

I don't know when, but the frequency of seeing you twice a week makes me a little unbearable. On a drizzly night, there were few guests, and the sound of stan gates saxophone came from the record player, which made people feel confused. I flipped through the book in my hand, and the more I read it, the more annoying it became. Finally, I pushed open the door and rushed into the cool wind on a rainy night without greeting the clerk. I walked aimlessly, letting my senses dominate my body, and my body was out of control. I can't stop thinking about you sitting by the window. Maybe I really need a friend like you? You know this will never be the true feeling in my heart, but my stubborn nature has temporarily blinded me.

Many windows of this high-rise office building are lit. How many people in this world, whose hormones are so high that they want to die, want to love someone and want to do a job, but the most passionate part can't find an exit, can't express it, can't bloom like fireworks, and can't be integrated with the world. I'm so powerful and I don't get a response. I can't find anything to give myself, so I am confused and refuse to give in.

Now it seems that I am no different from these people. A restless thing grew out of my shriveled chest, pestering me, bumping into me and making me fidgety.

In the soft light of the street lamp opposite, I seem to see your figure. Maybe I am hallucinating. I stared at that vision and refused to leave until I found out it was really you. Miss Nanhui, I saw you on the rainy and dark sidewalk. You look like you just came out of the company. You should work here. I know nothing about you. But it doesn't matter. I like plots without premeditation.

The fine rain falls on your umbrella, and the restless things in my body seem to be satisfied and don't bother me crazily anymore. You stand with your feet crossed and change sides from time to time. You look at the phone back in your bag and stare at the wet ground, as if you are indifferent to the world. A black car stops in front of you with a young man in the driver's seat. Your face finally has an expression. You smiled helplessly and intimately, got into the passenger seat and got off quickly.

Miss Nanhui, I'm not sorry. You can miss someone silently, and in other parts of the world, you don't ask for anything in return or company. That memory has always been so clear and bright, which is the best blessing.

Then one Saturday afternoon, you came to the seagull cafe as usual. The color of your lipstick was beautiful that day, which matched your bright eyes and teeth. Very beautiful. You're still reading Sidheim's letter. I am stupefied to know what it will be like to live with you. Kissing cute children at six every morning? I have never thought about getting married, and I have never lived with a woman. I can handle cleaning the house, washing clothes and cooking. There is no woman's house without any problems. I don't know what kind of life you live, but I know one thing, I don't own you.

late autumn

I think I'm sick.

For a month in a row, I didn't go to the cafe and the clerk took care of me. I don't go out. If I am hungry, I will order takeout. The house was not cleaned and the beard was not shaved. I feel like I'm running away from myself and thinking about you. It doesn't matter. Really feel that there is no love in life.

I dreamed of you and that we were sitting in the moonlight, sitting at both ends of the bench, not talking. You were about to turn around when I woke up. I sat up in the dark, and through the gap in the curtain, I saw the light coming from the window of the opposite household, and my heart was very practical.

The next morning, I got up early, took a shower, shaved, made myself a breakfast, cleaned up the house as neat as before, and then went to the seagull cafe. The clerk said that a guest left me a note. I opened it and it read in clear font:

I heard from the store that you were ill. I hope you get well soon.

Ps: The seagull cafe seems to have lost its soul without you.

Nanhui

Nanhui, I meditate. This is your handwriting, and I have a strange certainty about it.

We are covered by our own stories, thinking that we have never met in every corner of this city. The person who passed you by, the cafe you went to was his, and he was also sitting on the bench you sat in the park. I wake up in different places every day, but I am killed in the same place. I just don't know which day I will walk into each other's lives.

Miss Nanhui, if that's the case, I think I'll be willing to accept the whole person, not just the part I like.

winter

The days are as sparse and ordinary as before. I kill time in my coffee shop every day, but you still come every week. We seem to have a tacit understanding of doing our own thing, without talking, quietly sensing each other's existence. Although not in that sense, I feel very satisfied. Panic and be elated at the same time.

It's getting colder and colder. You always go outside and talk to people on the phone, as if you were arguing about something.

One rainy night, it was a working day, and you suddenly came. You didn't open an umbrella, and the drizzle soaked your hair, like a beautiful creature living underwater. I'm glad you came, but I'm a little uneasy. I can't ask you. You ordered a cup of hot coffee, found a corner seat, didn't go to the bookshelf to get the book, and grabbed the edge of the paper towel. I baked some slices of toast with coffee. First you froze, then you looked up and smiled at me and said thank you.

Just as you were about to walk away, you suddenly said, "Sit with me for a while." Still that smiling face with a little tiredness.

I sat down opposite.

"How long has this cafe been open?" You picked up the cup and took a sip of coffee.

"Well ... almost three years." My voice is a little dry.

"When I first came here, I felt like I was at home. I don't know why, I always feel that everything here has been outlined in my mind, which gives me a sense of belonging. "

"This cafe is the result of my efforts. I'm glad you feel comfortable here. "

"But I don't know if I will come again in the future." You slowly tear the edge of the bread. "I came to this city for a person. Now the love is over, the working hours are not long and there are no friends. I think this life is coming to an end. "

After a silence, I asked the clerk to add some hot water. "I ..." I rubbed the texture of the glass and made up my mind to look you in the eye. "I want you to stay."

Silence again.

After you finish baking bread, turn around and look out the window. "The rain has stopped." Then he turned to look at me. "Thank you for your toast. That's very kind of you. This place will be my refuge. " You smile at yourself.

"Goodbye." You got up and checked out.

I was stunned for a while, and soon I suddenly woke up. I quickly closed the store door and ran out, quietly following you and keeping my distance. I hid myself in the dark, and you didn't find me.

Before Frobisher shot through his head with a pistol, he wrote in his last letter:

Yesterday on the observation deck of the tower, at sunset. You didn't see me first, it was purely by chance. As soon as I took the last few steps, I saw the silhouette of a man leaning on the balcony, staring at the sea-I recognized your beautiful gabardine coat and unique soft felt hat. One more step and you'll see me curled up in the shadows. You go north, just turn in my direction and you will find me. I mustered all my courage to see you as much as possible-a minute? -then come back and hurry downstairs.

Miss Nanhui, this is my mood at this time.

You walked into a convenience store, and I followed, hiding behind the shelf at the other end. You picked out some daily necessities and took them to the counter to check out. When you brush the bar code, you absently pick up the chocolate at the counter, look at it and put it back. After you left, I took something to check out and bought the chocolate you picked up.

Walking out of the convenience store, I still keep my distance and walk behind. You light a cigarette, put it between your slender fingers, walk on the quiet sidewalk, and smoke slowly. Unconsciously came to the intersection. At the red light, you stand for a while, turn around before the green light comes on, and press out the cigarette butts in the ashtray of the trash can. I think you will see me soon, so you can't hide. A sense of tension seized me and I felt I was going to die. Fortunately, you didn't notice me until your figure disappeared at the other end of the road. I breathed a sigh of relief and found that my hand in my coat pocket was holding the poor chocolate tightly.

I realized that, as Sidheim said in his letter, if you lose some beliefs you posted, you will find that you will never get out of your inner truth. The Roman Empire will decline again, Cortes will ravage Tran, Tenoch and Ewing again, Adrian will be blown to pieces again, and you and I will sleep under the starry sky in Corsica again.

Miss Nanhui, you will come to Seagull Cafe, I will fall in love with you, you will read this letter, and the sun will get cold. At the end of Nietzsche's phonograph record, Satan will play it again for endless eternal truth. I will fall in love with you again.

I can read the words in your eyes. "Every time I read those letters, I feel really needed, constantly missed and deeply loved."

spring

The Spring Festival passed noisily, saying goodbye to the old and welcoming the new. The seagull cafe is still there, and the light outside the window is still full and soft.

You push open the glass door and come in. I read with my head down and didn't turn my attention to you. But I've seen your face thousands of times in my mind.

You ordered coffee, took out the cloud picture from the old place on the bookshelf and sat at the window.

Your eyes stopped at the page "Mymrin Hotel in Bruges, 193 1 year1February 12 at 4 am15". Frobisher's last letter to Cisco Smith.

This letter is sandwiched in this page of the book. I know you will read this letter.

It is not only a hormone, but also a spiritual fit similar to faith. This is my understanding of love. I think you will agree.

I hope you don't need to read those letters from Sidheim anymore.

sincerely

Green hills