If he had given up from the beginning, would it not be so uncomfortable now? If he had been cold-hearted at the beginning, would he be so cruel now? He was asking himself.
Does the past have to pass? Can what should be forgotten really be forgotten? This is not a dream, nor is it the dew on the branches that disappears when you wake up.
Can we still be the same as before?
The white porcelain bowl is like a thorn in my heart. Every time in the dead of night, it feels like a long-standing injury in the obscure wind and rain...