The fox's feelings for the little prince may be hard for many people to accept.
The fox in The Little Prince teaches us that the deepest love is often hidden in restrained silence. When it looked at the golden wheat field and said, "He tamed me," the nostalgia that was blown away by the wind became the footnote of all unrequited love.
Isn’t this the case with us in real life? The name in the address book that we dare not click, the text in the input box that we repeatedly delete and clear, the flock of sheep we counted while staring at the ceiling at three in the morning.
Missing you is a silent avalanche. It may seem calm on the surface, but everything inside has been turned upside down.
A true farewell does not involve a long pavilion or an ancient road, but is just an ordinary afternoon, canceling the special care and letting the chat history sink to the bottom.
Like the fox that treats the wheat waves as souvenirs, we have also learned to piece together absences with scattered traces in life: the coffee shop you often visit reserves your favorite seat, the weather forecast always unconsciously includes one more city, and your breath suddenly freezes when you hear a certain line of lyrics.
This kind of restraint is not the reduction of love, but a deeper precipitation. Just like the cultural relics collected in the museum, the more precious they are, the more they need to be isolated and protected in a constant temperature and humidity environment.
Some relationships are destined to become amber, wrapped by time into crystal specimens, and only with a transparent distance can they remain forever beautiful. When the fox chose to stay in the wheat field, it actually tamed another kind of eternity. The gentleness of not disturbing each other is the last gift to each other.
Keep the memories at just the right temperature, neither burning the present nor freezing the past. This may be the cruelest gift of growth: we finally learn to let go and keep the important people in our lives forever.