There Is Light in the Wound

The cherry blossoms were blooming, and Orm stood under the tree in a daze. Kuang Lingling walked over without touching her, just stood side by side. "I... Went to see my dad's grave yesterday," Orm said. "Yeah." "I also went to see your dad's. I put flowers, white chrysanthemums." Kuang Lingling's throat felt tight. "I still hate him," Orm continued, "but I don't hate you anymore. I stopped hating you a long time ago." The wind blew and cherry blossoms fell on their shoulders. Kuang Lingling touched the back of Orm's hand very lightly - her first active touch without any reason. Orm's fingers moved, but he didn't move away or hold back. The lights of the city in the distance are starting to turn on, but here there is only one porch light on. Kuang Lingling said: "Go home, the porridge is getting cold." Orm nodded, and when he turned around, the back of his hand gently brushed against hers. The camera zooms out: two figures walk into the old house one after another, the door is closed, and the lights are warm and yellow. The last line: "They never learned to hug each other throughout their lives, but they learned not to grab each other's favorite eggs when eating from the same bowl. This may be their 'love' - clumsy, full of wounds, practiced for a lifetime, and painless."