This is the story of one person, the life of an ordinary person...
"Zilla..." This is the name he is most familiar with.
When he was young, his friends often called him like this, and a group of boys would run to the fields with joy, tracing the picture of the future under the blue sky and white clouds. His parents called him home at night.
When he was young, familiar colleagues would call him this way. Sitting by the bridge, blowing the evening breeze, it seemed as if the pressure of life disappeared.
In middle age, he could still hear someone calling him like this. It was the same people, but the important person was missing.
He is old, and he seems to have never heard such a call before. I wonder if the person calling him has disappeared, or he has forgotten his nickname...
Finally, "Pillars..." And "Pillars..." Echoed in his mind. He felt that tears should be in his eyes, and he finally walked towards the group of people and the familiar blue sky and white clouds.
Intention: picking up flowers in the morning and evening