He lit a cigarette in the dark cabin and looked at her and asked.
"Does it hurt?" She said, covering her red and slightly swollen face.
"It doesn't hurt, as long as you like it."
"But your liking is not what I want."
She turned around and left slowly.
A few years later, when we met by chance, an inexplicable sadness surged into my heart.
Is it passing by again, or is it a brave pursuit?