In this prosperous age, there is no room for an ordinary you or an ordinary me? In an instant, the youth seemed to be dropped, and a piece of cigarette ash was left on the fingertips. I'm thinking of you, but do you love me? If not, why would I be immersed in the dark room over and over again, missing your face, the gray hair on your temples, and the strong smell of smoke between your palms. Am I that strange woman in your eyes, or am I your lover? My feelings for you were once so deep in the bone marrow and dripping in the blood. Why is your face always so blurry in front of my eyes, emerging over and over again, and being submerged in the darkness again and again...