When I went home during the summer vacation, I accidentally saw the cup in my father's bedside drawer. It was carefully taped together, even the small pieces were glued on. Only a small piece was missing from the mouth of the cup, like a sad gap, as if the pain would overflow at any time.
The platycodon flower on the cup is still gentle, but there is an indescribable sadness. The petals are still beautiful, but they are like an angel with broken wings, full of scars.