The literary hero I had a crush on suddenly came from time to time, holding the first draft of the novel I wrote and questioning me with red eyes: "Why... Are you only willing to love me in the story?"
My brain shut down and I pointed at the flower of the high mountain whom I had a crush on for many years on campus: "Because... The prototype is him."
It rained heavily that night, and the hero dragged the soaked Flower of the High Mountain to my door with a dangerous smile: "Now, choose one."
Rain dripped down his deep brows and dripped on the back of my trembling hands: "When you were writing about me... Who were you thinking about?"
Purpose: In life, we are all learning how to get along with our own "stories", how to face inner creation and loss, and how to plant our own, small but tenacious life in that spiritual wilderness that is sometimes sunny and sometimes rainy.