Leung goh nuijen, yat goh leng, yat goh m leng

A woman is a city. That year, when she was still unformed, she was a song without a melody, she was notes fluttering and scattering. That year, when she was in bloom, men came to her as pilgrims. She engaged in battles with them; she won some, she lost some. She never worried. That year, she was getting old, the time had come to send the guests away. Now she began to entertain her guests. The songs were tired, the singer was fighting against time. That year, she was already a mirage, forever staring at those sleepy refugees who can't go away, fly away, or leave. A woman is a woman. This afternoon, she's meeting her for tea. She thinks: long time no see. What is the first thing that I'll say to her? The other one thinks: What she remembers may be what I most want to forget. Two women, one foot and ten feet, one wears high heels, the other doesn't.