Wei Yan's fifteen-year-old was trapped in three scales: the number of cracks in fluoxetine tablets, the swing frequency of the wall clock in the psychological clinic, and the shadow area cast by Tong Yu's eyelashes.
The girl who smashed strawberry milk on his desk once used the tip of a compass to draw the entire sea on her old school uniform. She said that the seventh return of the tide would bring miracles, but it evaporated into water vapor in the midsummer when the cicadas were chirping craziest--along with the corners of his mouth that had just learned to smile, they were locked into the rainy season of 2019.
Three years later, Tong Yu returned with sunburned shoulders and salt grains in her hair. The temperature of her fingertips exactly matched the memory specimen. She repaired his festered seventeen-year-old and taught him to bury an anchor that would blossom in his collarbone, until one night the moonlight cut through the dream, revealing the rusty truth——
It turns out that drowning people survive on the oxygen of fiction, and the most deadly salvation often grows in the cracks of reality.
Intention: be text
