I began to believe that life is just a firework, and after the brilliance, only desolation remains.
All the pasts were created intentionally by us or developed naturally.
All efforts went off track.
Those melodies that have never been sung end up silent in a corner.
The four seasons cycle endlessly, and along the way, people decorate sweet fantasies with gorgeous words.
The fictional warmth of loneliness cannot match the desolation of reality.
Since they are not God's favorite.
They are all forgotten orphans.
They are all numb souls walking on the edge of love and pain.
What I experienced was nothing but a displaced wandering.
Then please believe that this is fate.
A fate we have not yet had the courage to escape from.