Lin Yan said a lot of things on the day he died.
His words were like fallen leaves in late autumn, falling one by one from his cracked lips and falling in the empty room without any echo or response. The attendant was kneeling and crying outside the door. He divorced his wife half a year ago and sent her back to her parents' home. There was no one in front of the hospital bed, so he spoke sentence by sentence to the beam above his head.
Later, the voice became softer and softer, like a candle that was about to burn out, leaving only a faint, beating shadow.
By the time he said the last sentence, he could no longer hear his own voice. His lips were still moving and his throat was still vibrating, but the words no longer had the strength to rush out of his lips and teeth. They piled up in his throat like snow piled on the eaves, getting thicker and heavier.
And then he died...
Concept: Love is a kind of exchange, and it is recognition of each other for life after life.