Anchor, sinking out of sight.
I don't know where it is, but I thought it had already sailed away from the sea.
Until you discover that you are not a boat.
But the anchor itself.
Like a drop of molten iron falling into flesh and blood, it is hot and painful, and then condenses into a hard core during the long cooling process.
Wind and waves cannot move it, and time cannot corrode it.
The shaky obsessions have been anchored, and the past that I dare not touch has been suppressed.
But precisely because it sank too deep, so deep that it has grown together with the bones and blood——
An insignificant word, a familiar scent, a hazy and dark living room...
It's enough to uproot a person and throw him back to a moment he thought was long gone.
People always think that they are moving into the future. In fact, it is just a repeated measurement of the distance from the past.
Sitting side by side on the river bank. The burning sunset. The name that accompanies silence.
They never really left, they just temporarily sank to the bottom of the water.
Since then, it has been called obsession.
To a person who no longer exists, to a road with no end, to a light that cannot last forever.
Some people spend their entire lives waiting for their heartstrings to be plucked.
There are also people who spend their entire lives avoiding belated repercussions.
Perpetrators and victims. Trapped beasts and cages. Arsonists and survivors.
Savior, and Infinite Hell.
It is both an anchor and a ship; it is both a sinker and a salvager.
With the flavor of obsession.
That is the weight of the anchor.
Intention: obsession, a silent anchor. Not seeing the light of day, but falling for life.
