It has been a long, long time since I wrote even a short but complete story. It seems that I have lost the ability to give others endings. Feeling numb. I felt a little sad when I saw a friend leaving a message on the school website asking about "The Lonely Butterfly Bone".
It is a short story written for "Lihu" at Duyin's request. Just over 3,000 words. It's rare to give the story a happy ending because the boss doesn't like decadence and tragedy when reviewing manuscripts. So the story lost its original ending.
I have transformed into a woman who is tolerant, quiet and restrained. There is no longer any effort or pleasure in tit-for-tat with others. Looking at everything around me, I feel that it has nothing to do with me.
As said in "The Lonely Butterfly Bone": Are you happy? Of course there is also a smile. It would be a lie to say that every day is immersed in sadness.
But, but. My heart will no longer beat as violently as it did at a certain moment.
In our life, we will pass by too many people. Appearance, voice, breath, body temperature.
They are all passers-by.
So I struggled in the dark and painfully kissed your faces in nothingness, imagining and then gently laughing at the promises you made to me.
But the breath and body temperature have disappeared.
Conception: