It just doesn't bother me at all, the movie reminds me of a person, just like "Hua Ge"'s manic, simple, heavy love and righteousness and even the eyebrows and eye contours of a babyfat like him
. Thinking, detached love also seems like the glass hidden in his run-down and cluttered apartment. That is the past me that I miss. I fell in love with someone, impulsive, simple and unclear.
Brother Hua in Carmen, Mong Kok finally fell under the gun, remembering the picture of kissing his lover before he died. I don't grieve for it. Death expresses a kind of eternity, which is more easily shaken, and is really less tragic than reality.
Reality is like a flowing water mat that destroys uninhibited and legendary memories. No one died. We held hands or slept in each other. We burned the remaining half of the cigarette with superficial and trivial things, and the vigour of the past was gone.
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