The first time I watched it a few years ago was only the throbbing of adolescence. Today, the second time I watched it, I only felt that the heroine was the most ruthless and ruthless of me. Pretending to face what the heroine faced, I got the same reaction as her. She was pale and lonely, and she was doing all this bloodless, filling the dispensable cracks in her heart. How to do it, how to be unfaithful, how to be promiscuous, we have no difference in essence, and it seems more pure to measure with money. I emerged from the black corridor. I seemed to be a little freer, and my tears flowed. The freedom I want is that I can express my abnormal emotions without any scruples. But no one can. No collapse, no shame, no can, no can't, no piercing pain, or, at the time. Everything is so boring, so powerless, so pale. Love is like that, and so is sex. Not to mention marriage. Everything is so stupid, sadness, loneliness, confusion, living out oneself and finding freedom are even more stupid. Fuck the psychotherapist, fuck the redemption. We live, we die.
It just hurts sometimes. There is really no such pain as a trapped beast moving and struggling, nothing shocking the world, and even no pursuit of freedom, no pursuit of pleasure, no rumination of loneliness, just silent, living and enduring. Sometimes I just want to throw myself into the waves of life, to rise and fall with the tide, to wander with the tide.
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