While passing by every decaying woman, I am accustomed to imagine their childhoods, mainly their smiles in childhood. I would think, how innocent and brilliant it would be, even if they turned out to be uninteresting and disgusting, they would not be able to destroy the innocent and brilliant. When I meet those fierce, angry, ugly, funny, mad cross the street, begging on the side of the road, gloomy, stingy, hateful women, I think so too, in my heart Imagine each of them with an innocent smile and a pair of pure eyes that they once had. I could never imagine it. So, nothing is unforgivable.
This year, Matsuko was 53 years old. When I met her, she could only be attributed to a strange old and fat woman. As always, I tried to imagine when she was pure. That's when life showed me in all its sin and beauty. Because of everything this woman has experienced, my imagination has been given unprecedented magnificence, and she is also like a smooth river, cast by sunset smoke, cloud shadows and skylight, dead branches and leaves, dirt and debris, silently carrying forward , with a smile in the tears, and tears in the smile. Her fate passed through my heart.
At this time I couldn't touch the pine nuts' smile. What I saw was a funny grimace, a passionate lip pursed in a gesture of trying to please life. Sometimes the lips were mischievous marks, reminding her of her father, who never smiled. Sometimes those lips are a desire for a kiss, and Matsuko hopes to keep a certain gym teacher with silver teeth and always pulling up his pants, a writer who adores Osamu Dazai but keeps his fist on her face, and a quiet A mediocre hairdresser in a small town, a student who would endlessly hurt her because he liked her. Sometimes these lips are a desperate demonstration, as if saying the same thing to everyone who passed by and couldn't hold back: I'm so sorry to live in the world.
I'm so sorry to live in the world. Looking at the life of this despised Matsuko, seeing her fat and ugly present, her hurt past, and her innocent beginning, I couldn't help but shed tears. A life born as a woman is like a river composed of clean water droplets, but it will flow into the ocean without any regrets if it becomes dirty. The last ocean, peaceful, tolerant, and gentle, contains every river that is addicted to infatuation. This ocean, you can call it a paradise of goodness.
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