I only have a few memory fragments about her: the first one is her smiling softly in front of a pile of excavated bones, which makes my skin crawl; the second one is her wearing a big T-shirt and a big apron with a blue kiwi pattern, taking out the dishes from the villa one after another, and then in the trash can outside the villa, her back is slender, and her long shiny hair does not seem to need to be combed. It went smoothly, I mustered up the courage to say hello to her, but she just twitched her lips; the third shot was at my party, she still had her hair down and wore a white T-shirt dress, looking like a fairy in the shadow of the fragrant hair; the fourth shot was of her holding those little condoms, as if she thought they were balloons, and blowing them hard; the fifth shot was in the mess, and she frowned and pushed me. After that, she disappeared into thin air.
Every time I go back to China, I go to a villa in the mountains, but the door of the house behind is always closed. I asked the administrator, and even he didn't know anyone had lived there.
If my friend at the banquet that day hadn't said that such a person had indeed come, I would have thought it was just my imagination.
But she was actually sitting in front of me at this moment: although her naturally flowing long hair had been cut short.
I feel angry. It is only my concern and my search.
If she's doing well, then so be it.
But unfortunately, such a willful person now has a perfunctory look on his face.
It turns out that her name is also arbitrary.