When the law pattern gradually became clear, I thought it was just a serious expression.
Seven years ago, when a thirty-year-old woman told me what an important day this was, I could not hear the bleakness in her tone.
For me at that time: getting old, so distant and fuzzy.
The caramel melts at the beginning, the color is bright, and it is coveted, like the youth of the past, flowing unscrupulously. Honey-like color, warm and soft.
It turns out that being willing to fall in love with a married man is also the courage that young people have.
It turns out that indulging oneself is also absurd for young talents.
It turns out that withering at the peak is also the power that young people have.
The cold caramel faded from the warm amber color, pale as rubber, with vented resentments and rooted body hair, and did not know its end.
Those young faces are so amazing and hot, they have a future that is still optional, the wrong love has time to let go, and the absurdity has time to be repaired.
And the old man, resisting in vain, pretending to be in front of others, refuses to give up. The menstrual blood disguised by the pool of red potion was so ugly and desolate that I couldn't bear to see it.
When we do not want to change, when we are willing to give up, are we facing the reality of aging?
The face that is willing to wipe off the makeup, the back with a short trouser leg, is so helpless and desolate, old, no time, no choice.
There is no one to keep warm in the prehistoric land. What is the inner strength of those women who insist on walking their lives alone?
This evening, facing the reality that beauty is late and will eventually grow old, I am so lonely, so desolate, and torn apart.
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