What is the world made of? I was told it was a story.
Different stories one after another make up this world. It's like smoke rings, clear, blurry, gradually dissipating... One after another, and then dissipated.
What about you? In what manner do your smoke rings linger?
——I want to carve your name on this cigarette and inhale it deeply into my lungs
——I have never been a well-behaved woman, and I don't want love that requires daily necessities.
——Actually, it's not that I can't forget it, but that I don't want to forget it. It's better to have met before than never to have met. I'm satisfied.
——You must know that the most beautiful love is perfection. I can't live this life completely, so how about making my love as perfect as possible?