enjoyebooks 070 Is what she lacks poetry?
070 Is what she lacks poetry?
Turn around and face the wall. Place your hands on the wall.
Song Zhiyi did as instructed.
She wore baggy camouflage pants that concealed the outline of her calves. But with the slightest movement, the slender length of her calves was still noticeable.
"Heels on the ground, toes against the wall, body slightly forward." Wang Zhe stood behind her, giving instructions while gently pressing his hand on her waist to adjust her posture. "Yes, that's it. Can you feel the muscles on the back of your calves being stretched?"
"Hmm...it hurts a little," Song Zhiyi groaned softly.
"Bear with it. It'll be easier to massage once you've stretched it out."
After stretching for a few minutes, Wang Zhe patted her shoulder.
"Okay, relax now, I'm going to massage you. Keep holding onto the wall and don't move."
After saying that, Wang Zhe squatted down behind her.
After squatting down, his gaze naturally fell on the girl's legs in front of him.
Even through the camouflage fabric, he could still imagine the smoothness of the skin underneath.
Wang Zhe reached out and grasped her right calf.
The texture is soft, warm, and slightly taut.
That was a familiar touch from his memory.
In his past life, how many nights had he held it like this...
"I'm going to push harder," Wang Zhe reminded him.
"Okay..." The girl had her back to him, so he couldn't see her expression, but her voice was soft and gentle.
Wang Zhe began to exert force with his fingers.
He didn't hold back just because the other person was a girl. Instead, he used force, starting from her ankle and massaging, pressing, and kneading her muscles upwards along the lines of her soleus and gastrocnemius muscles.
"what……"
Song Zhiyi couldn't help but let out a soft moan.
The external force relieved the soreness in her muscles, and the pleasant soreness rushed up her nerves to the top of her head, making her feel weak all over.
"Does it hurt?" Wang Zhe asked, but his hands didn't stop moving.
"A little...but...um..." Song Zhiyi's voice trembled slightly.
Wang Zhe's hands were large and strong, and the warmth of his palms traveled through his trousers to her skin, as if carrying an electric current.
Each press, each kneading, made her body tremble slightly.
This isn't a leg massage at all.
This was clearly hurting her heart.
Song Zhiyi suddenly felt that she seemed to understand Jiang Di a little better.
In this dimly lit stairwell, time seemed to thicken.
The only sounds were their breathing and the rustling of their clothes against each other.
A few minutes later.
Wang Zhe switched to the other leg and massaged it just as carefully.
"alright."
Wang Zhe stood up, clapped his hands, and felt the soft touch still lingering in his palms. "All done. Do you feel much lighter now?"
Song Zhiyi took a deep breath, trying to calm her somewhat rapid breathing.
She felt that her legs were indeed less sore and swollen, but another strange feeling took over her whole body.
She slowly turned around, wanting to say thank you.
However, perhaps because the stimulation was too intense, or perhaps because of the relaxation from the prolonged kneading, her legs suddenly went weak, and she lost her balance.
"what!"
With a gasp, Song Zhiyi lunged forward.
Wang Zhe reacted quickly, opening his arms to catch the girl who was about to fall.
In an instant, he was enveloped in a warm, fragrant, and soft embrace.
Song Zhiyi crashed solidly into his arms.
Her face was pressed against his chest, and she could clearly hear his strong heartbeat.
His arms were wrapped around her waist; they were strong, warm, and gave her a sense of security.
At that moment, the world seemed to stand still.
Wang Zhe did not push her away immediately.
He lowered his head, looked at the bewildered girl in his arms, and a wicked smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
Then he leaned close to her ear and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear:
"Song, did you do this on purpose?"
The hot breath hit Song Zhiyi's earlobe, making her shiver.
"No...no!"
Song Zhiyi quickly shook her head, "I... my legs are weak..."
Wang Zhe chuckled teasingly: "Oh, your legs went weak? Then why are you still clinging to me?"
Song Zhiyi then realized that her hands had somehow ended up tightly embracing him.
As if she had been burned, she abruptly released her grip, broke free from Wang Zhe's embrace, took two steps back, and created some distance.
The girl lowered her head, avoiding Wang Zhe's eyes, a blush spreading all the way to the roots of her neck: "I...I have to go eat! Goodbye!"
After saying that, she ran out of the stairwell like a startled rabbit.
Watching her flee in a disheveled state, Wang Zhe leaned against the wall, stroked his chin, and his smile deepened.
"You said you only wanted to be good friends? You're kidding me."
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.
10 PM, girls' dormitory 206.
In the dormitory after the lights were turned off, only the faint light from a few mobile phone screens could be seen.
The roommates' late-night chat is in progress. The topics range from military training during the day to gossip in the entertainment industry, and then to their respective hometowns and experiences.
However, Song Zhiyi remained silent on the bed by the window.
She lay flat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. Although her body was there, her soul had long since drifted back to the dimly lit stairwell of the playground.
Those few scenes kept replaying in my mind, like a movie.
He crouched down behind him.
Those warm, large hands grasped his calf.
That intensity, that rhythm, that tingling sensation that seeps through the skin and into the bones.
And that final hug.
That firm chest, the smell of sweat, and the words he whispered in my ear—"Did you do that on purpose?"
"call……"
Song Zhiyi turned over and buried her burning face in the pillow.
That's so embarrassing.
How could I have been so...so bold back then?
She meant to test him, to flirt with him under the guise of being "good friends," but ended up getting herself involved.
That racing heart feeling hasn't subsided yet.
"Zhiyi? Is she asleep?" Huang Yue called out from the lower bunk.
"Hmm... I'm going to sleep soon," Song Zhiyi responded listlessly, her voice sounding somewhat lazy and hoarse.
To distract herself from overthinking, Song Zhiyi decided to do something else.
She plans to compose a poem.
This is her method of regulating her emotions over the years. She transforms all those unspeakable palpitations, ambiguities, and desires into obscure imagery and locks them into words.
She closed her eyes, trying to capture inspiration in her mind.
In the shadows of the stairwell,
Hidden...
What's hidden?
Is it hiding a wild beast? Or a flame?
No, that's too blunt.
His fingers are...
Is it a slithering snake? Or a hammer striking piano keys?
No, that won't do, it's too cheesy!
Song Zhiyi frowned, somewhat annoyed.
Words that I could usually string together effortlessly seemed like a kite with a broken string tonight, impossible to grasp.
My mind was filled with concrete, sensory memories—his palms, his body temperature, his breath.
The specific tactile sensations were too intense, too intense to be abstracted into poetic phrases.
When the stimulation of reality exceeds the boundaries of imagination, words become pale and powerless.
"So annoying..."
Song Zhiyi muttered to herself.
She completely gave up the idea of writing poetry.
She reached out and hugged the blanket tightly to her chest.
The girl's face was pressed against the blanket, her legs were clamped between the corners of the blanket, and she was curled up in a ball.
Close your eyes.
Imagine that what you're holding in your arms isn't a quilt, but the person you hugged in the stairwell that afternoon.
That person's shoulders were harder than the blanket, and their body temperature was higher than the blanket.
"Did you do this on purpose?"
That smiling, deep, and magnetic voice seemed to echo in my ears again, repeating itself over and over.
Song Zhiyi's lips unconsciously curled up slightly, revealing a sweet yet helpless smile.
Yes.
I did it on purpose.
But... you did it on purpose, didn't you?
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.