消失的包裹与猫的叹息

I found out the parcel was lost on a gloomy afternoon. The voice on the other end of the phone was mechanical and indifferent, like a programmed machine, repeating words like "sorry," "unable to track," and "recommend reporting to the police." I hung up the phone and walked to the window, looking at the gray sky outside. In March in Tokyo, the air is filled with an indescribable dampness and a scent of decay.

The parcel contained an old book, an old book on existential philosophy. I ordered it from a used bookstore website. I can't remember the title, only that there was a black cat on the cover, and in the black cat's eyes, it seemed to hold the secrets of the entire universe. I had planned to spend this idle afternoon brewing a cup of coffee, leaning on the sofa, reading this book, and killing the afternoon.

I have a cat, a black and white cat named "Canned Food". "Canned Food" I picked up from the street corner. When it came, it was skinny, its fur was dirty, and only its eyes were bright. I fed it cat food, bathed it, and it stayed in my apartment.

"Canned Food" doesn't like to be petted, nor does it like to make sounds. Most of the time, it lies quietly on the windowsill, looking at the outside world. Sometimes I wonder if it is also thinking about some existential questions, such as the meaning of life, such as the nature of loneliness.

The loss of the parcel made me feel a strange emptiness. I didn't particularly care about the book; I couldn't even remember the specific content of the book. However, the loss of the parcel, like a tear in my peaceful life, allowed me to see some kind of bottomless darkness.

I started to frequently visit the nearby delivery points to inquire, and each time I got the same answer: no news, unable to track. The delivery men were dressed in uniform, with professional smiles on their faces, but their eyes revealed a kind of fatigue and numbness.

I started wandering aimlessly on the streets at night. In Tokyo at night, the neon lights flicker, and the crowds are bustling, but everyone seems to be trapped in a transparent box, separated from each other by an invisible barrier.

I walked into a bar and ordered a whiskey. Jazz music was playing in the bar, and under the dim lights, people were talking in low voices. The air was filled with the smell of tobacco and alcohol. I sat alone at the bar, watching the bartender wipe the glasses. The bartender's movements were slow and elegant, as if performing some ancient ritual.

"Sir, you seem to have something on your mind," the bartender suddenly said.

I was stunned for a moment, then smiled bitterly and shook my head. "Nothing, just lost a parcel."

"A parcel?" The bartender raised his eyebrows. "Something important?"

"Maybe," I said, "an old book."

The bartender nodded and said nothing more. He continued to wipe the glasses, his movements still slow and elegant.

I finished my whiskey and walked out of the bar. The streets at night were still noisy, but I felt an unprecedented loneliness. I looked at the crowds coming and going on the street. Each of them seemed to be carrying an invisible package, a package containing their secrets, their hopes, and their despair.

I returned to my apartment, and "Canned Food" was still lying on the windowsill, looking at the outside world. I walked over to it and gently stroked its head. It didn't dodge, just let out a low sigh, as if sighing at the world, and also at me.

I lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling. I thought, that lost parcel may never be found. Just like many things in our lives, once lost, they can never be retrieved. We can only carry this loss and emptiness, and continue to wander aimlessly in this world, searching for some kind of ethereal meaning.

The next morning, when I woke up, "Canned Food" was no longer on the windowsill. I searched the entire apartment and couldn't find it. Just like that lost parcel, it disappeared into the maze of this city. I stood by the window, looking at the gray sky outside, and suddenly felt that I was also a lost parcel, not knowing where I came from or where I was going.