In the weird, absurd and incomprehensible ancient times, there were some gorgeous and beautiful women, some straightforward and simple women in cages, singing and dancing quietly, or dying to fight for the dawn, smelling the burning breath of life in front of the copper smoke with gold and green dots. I don't know where to turn from being intoxicated, suffering from the end of rapid aging and exhaustion.
Because that thin wisp of green smoke is called love.
A collection of short stories, very serious.
... Waiting. Wait until you are calm enough and mature enough to become the kind of person you admire, wait until you understand what love is, maybe then you can reach the end of love. Then I won't write anymore.
It was in chaos at that time, lingering in my memories, and I still can't recall it.