The sun is dry and the bustling market is dusty.

You came in a hurry, but you looked so slow. When you came, you walked into my vague sight and my heart with a simple face, like a silk heart in my arms. The dust and grass clippings on your unkempt hair soaked your sweat, played casually in the sun and got into my nostrils, which made me extremely intoxicated.

You hold the cloth in your arms.

You hold the silk in your arms and gently hold it ... how do you know? Every trace stores the thoughts I have accumulated night after night. You just hold it gently and smile. I can't tell whether it's simple and honest or oily.

My hand, just washed by gentle stream, gurgles on your skirt. My silk thread has been stuffed into your arms at will, and none of it has flowed into your eyes. I weave silk thread for you one by one, the most fragile silk thread in the world, which has been stuffed into your arms at will.

You say the sun is really round today, and you say my silk is really soft.

I know that you have never seen the sun in the sky, and I know that you have never touched my silk. What is the most important thing for you in this world? You haven't paid attention to the sun in the sky, and you haven't cared about my silk ... Can you really regard me as your most important thing? You didn't come to exchange cloth for my silk thread. You just put on my wedding dress in a hurry. However, can this be casual? How dare I speak easily? You know I'm just a modest and shy girl. Can you tell that I quarreled with other girls and chatted with other boys? You, you just push me. Are you going to force me to be a hot girl? Can a spice girl weave such soft silk?