If one day, the city begins to hear our heartbeats—
(In Hong Kong, standing on an elevated highway, gazing at the city)
Perhaps the streetlights will slow their flickering,
to shine a little longer for those returning home late, just as night begins to fall. The glass of office buildings will no longer merely reflect neon lights,
but will gently absorb weariness,
letting the moon rest on your shoulders, rather than pressing down on them.
(About to leave port, night view)
The wind under the viaduct will carry the unspoken words of those in a hurry to farther places. The songs by the river are not just background noise; they will be like a pulse, shattering loneliness, beat by beat.
(The vacant lot next to Suzhou High School, next to a cafe called Iron Hands)
People running on the playground, a second pause while crossing the street, the light of an airplane passing through the clouds—those tiny but real beats, are actually constantly supplying life to this city.
(Arriving in Hong Kong before dawn)
If the city could hear, it would know—we are not cold, impersonal coordinates, but hearts striving to shine.
(A street scene captured after class)
And when all heartbeats converge, the neon lights are no longer just lights, but a constellation of stars.
(The day before I left Hong Kong, I met a freelance musician at a Western-style restaurant. He was probably singing a Taylor Swift song, but I can’t remember which one.)