I've caught a bird without touching its feathers

The early morning on the streets of Paris is like the door of a convenience store that is open 24 hours a day. People who wake up start to consume the energy of the day, and travelers with a hangover dissipate the alcohol of the night. People living upstairs began to share the day's breakfast with their families, and people walking down the street distributed excess bread to stray cats gathered in the park. Someone was sitting on a corner chair, flipping through a few pages of the newspaper and rushing to finish their coffee. Someone got into the car without looking back for a few minutes and then began to fall asleep again. Someone tucked their necks into the collars of thick coats and walked past a gray high-end apartment building rubbing hands. The postman took out a dozen letters from a heavy canvas bag and stuffed them into the large letterbox at the door of the apartment. He habitually knocked on the wooden door of the female concierge on the first floor, expecting her to distribute it to every household in the apartment building. However, no one responded to his knock on the door. Maybe the happy people have the same happiness, and the unfortunate people have their own misfortunes.
Pushing open the door, this is a small but delicate room. There is a small square table against the wall, with open dark chocolate blocks scattered on the table, but the owner of the chocolate likes to eat it with tea brewed from a Japanese iron pot "Nanbu Shoan". A copy of Tanizaki Junichiro's prose collection "Praise for the Shadow" was placed beside the teapot, and half of it was opened on the table. There is a white wardrobe next to the square table and the wall of the door, and there are only a handful of everyday clothes in it. But on the far left of the cabinet is a brand new woolen scarf - the neatly folded striped scarf is even a bit dazzling. No one knows that this scarf carries all the enthusiasm and hope of a woman. It used to be the key for a proud and inferior soul to get out of this room, it was once touched by warm hands and still contained tenderness, it used to stand alone in the dark in front of the corridor elevator, struggling to stare at a paragraph that was about to plump Feelings are now forever hung here. Pushing open another door, the cabinets on three walls are full of various books. Although most of them are old and yellow, the order and position of the books shows that the owners of these books are there every day. Read quietly here. She was leaning on the sofa with a cat named Lev on her lap. I've been reading Anna Karelina by Leo Tolstoy lately, but the two cowhide-covered volumes don't look out of place with all the old, yellowed books in the closet. Perhaps only Mr. Ozu, the newcomer upstairs, knew of the importance of these two volumes to the hostess. Only he understood why the videotape of Yasujiro Ozu's "Sisters of Zongfang" scattered on the desk had not been put back on the cabinet. He may never forget the tears that flickered in the corners of a French woman's eyes after watching a Japanese movie. He may also receive her elegantly handwritten letters in his dreams, and there may be a few lines of girlish love that flicker out of it. One day he burst into tears while reading Duras' "The Lover". That sentence said, "I know you and I will always remember you." Back then, you were young and everyone said you were beautiful. Now, I'm here to tell you that, to me, I think you're more beautiful now than when you were young, when you were a young woman, with you I love your devastated face now more than your face then.
In this small study that once belonged to her, there are always two small hand-painted paintings - two elegant birds. It was not long after her departure that the taciturn concierge was remembered. Because it is easy to find that there are too many hedgehog-like people around them. They don't pay attention to their appearance, they are not good at talking, they are not keen on social interaction, and they are even mediocre. Few people feel that there is an incomparably soft under their hard exterior like a castle. The hearts of them, they like loneliness, and they are unbelievably elegant. It's just a little happiness and misfortune in life. Sometimes it comes too slowly and sometimes it goes too fast.

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