Angels don't live in heaven

Author: Anjis
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-09-01
Features: Bondage, how powerful is it, that I still can't let go of the incomplete love between us. Even though you no longer love me, I still deeply love you. The winter in the city isn't too cold, though it's 7:30 a.m. on a rainy morning. Still drowsy, I hesitated to get up, unwilling to face this 55th morning without love. I had thought that living in an apartment on the 11th floor would make the gravitational acceleration of raindrops smaller. But I was wrong. All night long, the sound of rain kept me awake. Besides yawning to announce another sleepless night, I could only continue living this long life. Walking to the window, I looked at the photo on the desk—it was taken when An Min and I went to Awandai to see the maple leaves. We held each other's hands tightly, looking at the same red maple forest, with the same smiles, sharing the same happiness. Though my love with her was only a fleeting four months of happiness, it was so deep and indelible, lingering in the depths of my heart. I locked that past away with a heavy lock, leaving only something called memories behind. Does my emotional world have to be like an unbreakable glass bottle that can't hold happiness? Love comes quickly, but it disappears just as fast. So I can only hope that one day, I can fill a glass bottle with happiness, and love won't leave me again. Winter is about to bid farewell to the earth, and I will soon end my part-time job during the winter break, preparing to return to school for a new semester and a new life. Today is the last day of the winter break, and also a rare weekend holiday. Though the sky is still raining and I'm still wearing a gray, lonely mood, a person who has lost love must find something to keep themselves busy to endure the so-called aftereffects of breaking up—sadness, despair, loneliness. So I decided to go to the movies. I came to the ticketing counter of the Paramount Cinema at Shin Kong Mitsukoshi with a beige sweater, a black coat, a golden scarf, and a green rain. "Which movie should I watch?" I frowned, staring at the movie poster, hesitating. "Sir, which movie are you interested in?" the ticket seller prompted. "I'll take ×× the Tycoon." I said. I had seen an ad for that movie—it seemed to be a comedy. I thought that with my stiff smile now, I should be perfect for a light-hearted and humorous film. "220 yuan, 15th row, seat 20." I handed her a 500 yuan bill, and she gave me 280 yuan back. The point isn't about the movie's content or the ticket price, nor about whether the ticket seller is pretty—it's about the seat. 15th row, seat 20. It was a great seat, right in the center, with a good view. Though I bought the ticket late, I still got a good seat—because there were no more than 10 people watching this movie. There was only one girl next to me. In the dark cinema, I could only see the outline of her face and knew she had a ponytail. Everything else was unclear. Was I watching a movie, or a girl? It really was a comedy. Excluding me and the girl, about five or six other people were laughing so hard their jaws nearly dropped. Why wasn't I laughing? It was all because the girl on my right was looking so ridiculous...