This is a world where everything is transformed by heaven and imagination. There is no such thing as love, and they don't understand what it is like. After all, there is no distinction between men and women... How long can one's love last in such a world? We don't know its origin or whereabouts, but it happened to exist, and it really exists in the pillow that is wet from crying when I wake up from a dream, and in the name that I miss most before going to bed.
No matter how long some emotions last, when you look back they are still there, hidden deep in the corner. I don't want the protagonist of the story to really gain nothing. I prefer to believe that what is lost is just with us in a different form. They should immerse themselves in it, grieve as much as they want, and then use the most hurtful things to heal themselves, and then see clearly, and then still want to immerse themselves again. Life is like this, there is no way to cross it, and there is no need to cross it.
Intention: Understand the meaning of one person to another in being hurt and healed, and the obsession to wash away love for the sake of redemption, but find that it cannot be washed away, is the meaning of redemption itself.