#silentthankyou
Wuxing Category: Wood (木)
1-xx
Rows of frames line the long, quiet gallery halls,
displaying the varied weight of a life’s labor.
The impasto of acrylics stands in jagged ridges,
beside the fluid transparency of pale watercolors.
A knife has sculpted the heavy oils into a landscape,
while ink-washes bleed softly into the heavy paper.
The scent of turpentine and rose hangs in the air,
drifting over the polished floor and the wooden bench.
I try to look through your eyes across these many worlds,
where the iridescent layers reveal the soul in the shade.
Your brushstrokes wander in a language I do not know,
yet the rhythmic glow makes me pause in total awe.
I see things in these paintings my mind cannot grasp,
as if the pigment were a cloth pressed against my skin.
I feel the heavy burden of the heart within each frame,
the weight of your emotions signed in paint without a name,
drawing me into a connection where we both somehow belong.
A woman in the corner watches the curated display,
her gaze shifting from the man to the vibrant walls.
She observes the stranger weeping at the varied tints,
moving through the space with a quiet, rhythmic stride.
She pauses near the exit, turning to offer a silent nod,
her whisper falling softly like a leaf upon the floor.
On the wall rests a photograph and a small placard,
bearing the history of the hands that held the brush.
I sit in the hollow hall where words have escaped me,
surrendering the craft that has always been my key.
Though we have never met, I know you through this work,
finding the scent of lavender beneath the drying oils.
I gather the salt and light of a tear upon my fingertip,
staring at the tremor of a smile that I cannot hide.
She said "thank you" for the witness I bore today,
to the same bright eyes and the smile in the photograph,
The artist herself having shared the bench in the silence.
刘嘉文
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 10:40 AM UTC