June 7
On June 7 we went to a local night festival near her house. Not as spectacular as Disneyland. We only spent $3 for the entrance ticket, but we were happy.
I remember she said, “I never went to a place like this. Much less at night.”
“Unlike other kids, i had a lame, boring childhood,” she stopped and took a sip of her cold jasmine tea before continued,
“or miserable, or broken, i don't know, maybe all that i just mentioned.” patiently waiting for the fireworks, surrounded by people.
“I'll just spend my weekends and school holidays watching cartoons with my granny cause my parents were nowhere to be found.” she turned to me, with a smile on her face. She looked like someone who just won a lottery.
Michael Haneke once said, people could feel happily melancholic sometimes.
I think that was what happened to her that night.
Right at eleven they finally set off the fireworks.
Made it explode with its distinctive noises.
Sent its color to the sky.
Sent its spark to my heart.
You looked graceful. And i still remember how i realized that the fireworks weren't the only thing that exploded that night.