When did such a small person grow up to be so big?
In Meichun, the hillside behind my former residence is covered with small lavender flowers.
People leave one by one, and in the end they cannot escape the fate of death.
Those last unspoken words, those sighs, those suppressed sobs, those angry curses, those cowardly pleas.
Connected into countless red threads, layer upon layer of entanglement, layer upon layer of deprivation.
The red thread wraps around the finger softly.