In your dream, you can see the figure of that person, tall figure, pale face, a dark red cinnabar growing in the secret place on the neck, and the color and size of your neck are exactly the same. So you cry in your dreams, run down the long aisle, and chase the music that dances with the wind in the crowded square. Searching for the flower that was born alongside you in the non-stop pursuit.
However, she has always grown on the other side of the city, or even further away. You can only feel the smell of her once scattered in the air with your breath, but at the moment when you straighten your curled fingertips, you lose her trace again. .
In the dream, a long and slender baroque church flashed, faded red like coagulated blood, and misty in an instant. You are still tired, so you call her name softly, and when you wake up, you happily remember the gentleness and purity of her name as it slid across your lips. You tell yourself that that is the call of fate. You shed tears in extreme joy, but you no longer care whether you can touch her fresh existence on the other side of the dry tree trunk.
Veronica, maybe that's the girl you're waiting for, draw her silhouette in the lines of the puppet show; wait for her arrival in the silhouette cast by the sunset; miss her in the high-pitched voice of the opera house... No one can replace her presence in your heart, because that's another you in the world.
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