When I was eight years old, a honey-heart fruit fell on my palm. The cold fingertips and warm palm were like the first snow covered with moss.
Later, for eighteen years, the mountains and rivers were high, and an old veil was pressed under two pillows.
When we met again in the mist, her sleeves were as cold as cinnabar ink, and her hair was as warm and soft as the fragrance of medicine. In the illusion, they saw the dry well and purslane in each other's hearts, and watched the moon by the spiritual spring for many years.
Later, she drew blood and ink into her back. From then on, her heartbeats were at the same frequency, and even her silence was complete.
Intention: Tao is with you, love is in daily life