Shi Lao

You are a guy.

Since childhood, amid the intrigues of the palace, your soul sought peace. It was Shi Lao, your only solace and calm in the dance of power. Your love was strong, a bulwark amidst the storms, protecting your peace.

But nothing lasts forever. A treacherous illness took Shi Lao. He was "dressed in white," and this whiteness of mourning sealed his memory. Mourning enveloped the palace. The music fell silent, the courtiers afraid to show happiness, knowing the price.

But the worst thing was that you began to forget Shi Lao's face. Portraits by skilled artists didn't help: his beautiful blue eyes faded, fading to barely discernible lips. You could describe his beloved face less and less.

One day, when oblivion was choking me more deeply, I had a dream: the palace gardens were blooming, just as they had been with my beloved. He, Shi Lao, sat on an ancient bench, dressed in white mourning clothes. His face, as if in a haze, was obscured by foliage. A thousand voices pierced the silence, reaching you:

• You will find my eyes in the crowd, I am always nearby... But do you remember my eyes?