My heartbeat, your confusion, the hanging chandelier, your urgent breathing, have you found it? The branches of one's own soul are destined to die.
Who is controlling our destiny, who are we performing for, the long river flows, trickling forever, I am too paranoid, the huge stage of the theater, for whom are you picking lightly and slowly, for whom are you wearing heavy makeup, for whom are you wearing silk clothes and brocade robes, red sleeves with lotus flowers, fingertips with fragrance, raising your head to judge the bright moon, bowing your head to think of all the branches.
The moon is bright and red cardamom is broken, the moon is like that time, and the people are like that time?
What kind of love will happen when a cold-blooded woman released from prison meets a large-scale arms dealer?
If you fall in love, you are in love. What are you afraid of?
Am I not afraid?
Aren't you afraid of running away?
Me, I didn't run.
I'm not so tired of running and chasing.