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It was exceptionally cold today. In the evening, accompanied by a chilly wind, there was a cold drizzle.
I left Starbucks, carrying my laptop, and went to a Shaanxi noodle restaurant. I ordered a bowl of saozi noodles and a roujiamo (Chinese hamburger with meat). After finishing my meal, I stood outside the shop and smoked.
The cigarette quickly burned out. I fastened the bottom two buttons of my coat and shivered as I went to find my electric bike.
Soon, I was back on the tenth floor of the apartment. I lit another cigarette and smoked it slowly.
Lately, I’ve been smoking a lot more, sometimes one after another. No one asked me why I smoked like this; I just couldn’t control it. There was a joke I saw online before, “I’m not smoking cigarettes; I’m smoking loneliness.” Now, it seems like that’s the case for me.
It’s quite lonely, especially struggling at this age.
I looked through the slit in the curtains, gazing outside at the pitch-black surroundings with only scattered lights. Of course, most people working wouldn’t finish so early. Nevertheless, the scene remained the same, monotonous and boring. I casually noticed a young girl in the opposite building’s kitchen, and my thoughts began to drift again.
Why did I end up in this situation? How many nights have I asked myself this question? Is it because I didn’t pursue a normal family life? Is there a significant problem with my personality that makes me unsuitable for marriage? Or is it that I can’t afford to get married due to financial issues? I don’t know.
But deep down, I don’t oppose love. On the contrary, I yearn for it.
But is there still love? I don’t know.
Looking back at the five years in this city, it can be described as drifting aimlessly, achieving nothing. Yet, even so, it seems like I’ve encountered love a few times. I say “seems” because, in reality, it wasn’t love. However, all of that was meaningless.
Love seems to be drifting farther away from me.
