I compare myself to a strange willow tree that has grown alone and stubbornly for twenty-six years. The twisted branches that are so brown and bitter are my past attempts to touch the sky again and again. I never sprouted branches in any spring, just silent, but in this cold winter, I developed a bit of yearning for it. For the first time in her life, this dying willow longed for the stream under the ice, rushing towards her.
Intention: Accidental encounter, using books as a medium, getting to know each other and growing up