Idle Chatter of the Mortal World

“Heaven, if you really feel sorry for me, let me dream of my mother a little longer!” “I don’t bet on the goodness of human nature. I bet on its evil. I don’t bet that they want her to live, but I bet they want me dead.” “Only my death will let us meet again.” “Son, stop hating your dad. I can barely remember what you look like anymore.” “Grandma, everyone says you can see ghosts in the cemetery at night. Could you come out and see me?” These cries ring out one after another. Is this world truly a living hell? I don’t believe it. And yet the cries cling like poison, echoing endlessly in the depths of the soul. The living are like the dead, while the dead torment the souls of the living without end.