His friend has been taking care of the comatose woman in bed. For four years, she has been alone doing what women like to do, watching silent movies and watching stage plays, and then coming back to tell her one by one, happy or depressed. Except for the trip she liked and couldn't go because he didn't allow himself to leave her. He bathed her, cut her hair, massaged her, put on delicate pajamas for her, read stories to her, and even cleaned her sheets from menstruation. He said to the man, this has been the most fulfilling four years of my life. What kind of four years made a man feel full of happiness when facing a woman who can't speak, can't blink, can't laugh, can't cry, can't move, can't make love.
When your lacrimal glands are as developed as your cavernous body, when the brave female matador flees for fear of a small snake, when he can't bear the world without her and commits suicide, when she appears on crutches in When a man smiles like an angel in front of him, I know that something has come back. At this time, tell her, and please tell yourself, that thing is back.
That kind of thing is called love.
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