Spaghetti

Remember that Shutien painted a scene: on the street, a quiet old woman and an old man who smiled face-to-face from different directions, then smiled at their nostrils, with their hands tightly tied together, their hairs and their smiles in warm yellows in the light of the west, and their happiness in the warmth that may not be perfect, may not be perfect, or romantic, but it was the faintest feeling that there was no joy, no ninety-nine roses and no broken blue bridge, but there was a feeling that there was a hand-to-hand and shoulder-to-hand walk. Maybe life started without confusion, and what it always wanted was to be with those around.