The lust between Chinese men and French girls. It is not so much lust as it is their thirst for life.
Because of fear.
The fear of one's own existence is meaningless and without evidence.
So from another flesh, another life that is intertwined and painfully entangled with myself, I found myself and recorded myself. It is not over yet, it has become a legend. Already thinking: after many years, I will remember.
Otherwise, why fall in love, there is no reason to fall in love, is it just lust? Rather, it is the lust for oneself.
Save yourself from sex and love. Save yourself from a silent disappearance. That kind of disappearance, that kind of irretrievable, unrememberable, frightening and sad, like water disappearing into sand.
The sound of the tides of the Mekong River, the rainy season in Vietnam, the vitality of tropical plants, the love derived for existence.
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