In the film, Honesch visited some old friends. His conversations with them, especially the guy who likes to quote Proust, made every sentence like a needle in my heart. I feel sad for Honesch, and even more sad for his Proust friends.
Recalling the picture of Honesch immersed in the water, I felt his loneliness, confusion, melancholy, and nothingness. I felt that these abstract and inexplicable things were dripping ice cubes touching me most. Sensitive fingertips. I can understand why such a soul chose to sink, but I can't find an excuse to pull him up.
Why do people want to live? I have my answer, but Honesch's answer is a huge problem in my life.
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