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Li Li: A battlefield for one person.
At 2: 30 in the morning, the computer case whizzed, and the room was dark. Only the moon outside the window and the monitor screen gave off a faint light. I sat on the cool floor and put together colorful papers one by one.
Countless outdoor photos, from a photo taken on a certain day of a certain year, are brand-new and bright, torn into nail-sized puzzles. Broken skin, unknown limbs, piled up in Givenchy's shoe box
I want to put these broken photos back one by one when I can't sleep.
These days, I always fall into a recurring nightmare-the noisy city is empty, and the pink old house is about to be swallowed up by green ivy. Standing downstairs, I looked up and saw angels with white wings falling from the roof and red roses blooming in the boundless snow.
Noble and proud angel with white wings.
Tata, my dear.
You said that people who love puzzles have a latent sense of deformity and loneliness. We are always willing to empty our pockets to buy some beautiful pictures that have been smashed by machines, and then piece them together on a sleepless night, just to challenge ourselves to bear the limit of loneliness, without knowing how stupid we really are.
You see, so many years, so far away. ...
Call me if you have any questions.