We reached the last destination after lunch, you were about to leave but stopped by me.

“Do you have any last word before we apart?”

Silent, as usual, silence has haunted him since a few days ago, somehow after a few seconds he managed to spill the words mechanically: “I’m sorry”

In regards to Cloudman, I have run out of words to describe him, am I going to write about him with bias? The good or the bad? I really have no idea. Right now, when I’m sitting in front of my laptop, every single moment spent with you emerges explicitly in my consciousness, it disturbs me and I can’t really focus on the writing. I have been writing, restructuring, and deleting wording, I even trying to shift my mindset with a different language, hoping the foreign and detachment of the language could help to get rid of you. But I know in the end it’s all in vain.

When I was about to write something about Cloudman, I couldn't establish a fundamental framework to start with, a lot of hindrances stopped me from continuing it. I worry I can't objectively elaborate on you although it’s not what I should be concerned about. By the time I’m writing this, I have been rewriting, rephrasing, and restructuring every word whenever and wherever I am, where the reality of your existence still remains valid, even in my dream. I even resorted to altering my thinking mindset by shifting the language, hoping the unfamiliarity could impose a sense of impartiality, although I am well aware that all this effort in the end is in vain.

I promise I will make it simple and precise. But I can’t guarantee the inevitable metaphorization throughout the narrative.

I called him Cloudman, as suggested by the name, most of the part above his neck is covered with clouds. His figures are indiscernible when the clouds thicken, you can barely distinguish his mood, unless you dismiss it with your bare hand you can have a glimpse of his emotion, therefore don’t even think of deciphering what he is thinking. Basically, he distances himself from everyone.

However, the mysterious part he emitted has driven my curiosity and interest- it made me want to approach him. I should be grateful I didn’t get shocked by the thunderstorm.

What made Cloudman has been a great deal of riddles, he is only willing to disclose that it’s about the shadow. That world isn’t just the absence of sunlight, it’s to the extent where consciousness is being abandoned, ironically it’s where the memories linger for the longest time, as if they are destined to be there seeking redemption.

I was no stranger to the shadow, I recalled it was where the Snowman left me five years ago. I can relate to his helplessness and loneliness being trapped in that region.

“It wasn’t as simple as you think.”

“Well then, how’s it supposed to be?”

“Unfortunately I can’t tell you, and I can’t find a proper word to describe it.”

No matter how much he rejected my perception of the shadow, I persisted, endeavoring to comprehend his so-called shadow by observing him within close proximity. This process lasted for a few months and eventually, he finally pulled and didn’t resist my approach. He embraced me, I was part of the cloud.

The days spent with the Cloudman weren’t easy, indeed it was challenging. The unresolved riddles have accumulated and are beyond my tolerance. Clarities and answers have ceased to exist, as if obscured or totally wiped out by the heavy rains in Macondo.