![]() ![]() Lan Wangji isn’t sure people know the lighthouse exists when it’s submerged in the roiling fog. It’s times like these that he stays awake long into the evening, and waits. If he yearns hard enough, he can conjure the image of a brilliant smile and a pale hand waving at him from the other side of the darkness. If he tries hard enough, he can catch the ends of a long, worn red ribbon fluttering in the wind. If he closes his eyes, he can hear a familiar, gossamer laugh ring in the distance. He leans forward, forearms braced against the rail, and waits. Its crescent light beams through the descended clouds, capping larger waves that crash against rock. Tonight, the fog is merciful, and Lan Wangji can almost see the moon. (If he stays up later than usual to search for a familiar face, then that’s for him, and only him, to know.) Even then, Lan Wangji keeps an eye out in the blanket of night, hoping to find some semblance of life, of a light that symbolizes one’s arrival. When the sun, a soap bubble in the sky, pops against the pointed tips of the waves, the moon comes to take its place, and the sky and fog darken with its presence. It’s difficult to gauge the color of the sky, but he’s able to recognize the position of the sun and its moon. ![]() At the same time, he has yet to see the sky in its entirety, always hidden away in the smog that runs overhead. Here, it’s cool all-year around-never too cold, never too hot. The gallery deck is damp, cold with flecks of sea spray dotting his skin. Given the lighthouse’s isolation, its distance from the nearest town, the lack of visitors doesn’t surprise him. Never mind the fact that in all the time he’s occupied the lighthouse, he has yet to find any signs of life in the sea under that never ending spread of grey mist. He combs through the dense fog, barely able to detect the odd patterns the waves create. He scours for lights and signals, ready to jump into action if needed. He searches for boats and ships, prepared to guide them back to shore. Surrounded by his silence, Lan Wangji watches the sea, scanning for any signs of life. Instead, the slap of water against rock, the cries of seagulls, the high-pitched whines of faraway albatrosses-all of it have been embedded in Lan Wangji’s silence, the same way fossils become one with rock. ![]() Here, silence takes on a different meaning, no longer defined by things that are lacking. Here, overlooking the foggy landscape, it’s never quiet. Clouds, having descended from the sky, skim across the surface, coiling and rolling leisurely against the rising waves. The wind wails around him, forlorn and lost. So he lets it be and watches it in silence, both hands curled around the railing. It’s also entitled to its secrets, the same way that man is entitled to his. To Lan Wangji, the sea is enigmatic, and it harbors the same number of mysteries that that same man may hold. It’s too big for one man to comprehend when he puts his mind to it and thinks. ![]()
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