How does it happen? I am a brown-skinned peasant from the South who fell in love with a blue-eyed writer, who might once have been from the North.
She is a distinguished, beloved writer who feels the pain of the people and seeks to lift injustice from their shoulders. She writes about politics, which I know nothing about. It is said that politicians have theories and ideas, while I sit among the bean fields, hearing nothing but the chirping of birds and seeing nothing but the flow of the river.
She is the shortcut to beauty, creativity, pure thought, and profound wisdom, while I am that simple peasant who knows nothing about love or the Detian Falls.
How can she penetrate my loneliness? I am a peasant wandering alone among the fields. I had no idea that someone who falls in love with a writer becomes someone who loves reading and poetry.