It's just a few broken things.
Affectionate. friendship. love.
I suddenly mentioned this
today because my eyes have been sore today.
But don't know why.
And the last time my eyes hurt like this.
Is crying for you.
Although we are already strangers to each other.
Either for you or for me.
It is impossible to go down the same path again.
But that doesn't prevent me from thinking of you occasionally.
After all, you lent me your not warm and soft palm.
When I'm alone, hug me and lend me a shoulder that isn't quite warm and steady.
Everything can be passed, but it's impossible to go back to the past.
It's raining heavily today.
The Edward Scissorhands
story I watched in bed wasn't profoundly complicated or gorgeous.
But when I saw it, I knew too much how much you liked him.
That's why we came together in the first place.
We are all children like Edward.
We all so long for love but don't understand love.
We express our love poorly but are ostracized by the crowd.
Look into his animal clear eyes.
deeply. deeply. Longing for love and warmth.
Just like we used to be.
Struggling to find a warm gesture.
Edward was alone all his life.
I know. In fact, you are telling your loneliness.
Because we have the same flaws as Edward.
Scissorhands is just a metaphor.
It is a metaphor for our quirks that cannot be integrated into the crowd.
The crowd has occasionally embraced scissorhands, our quirk.
In the end, it still pushed us out of the crowd.
Edward longed for love and warmth but spent his life only talking about consolation.
We yearn for the same love and warmth, and because of those scissor-hands-like quirks, we have gone through scars for warmth, and finally in our little corner, we gently miss, smile, and hurt silently with the warmth that once illuminated our lives.
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