The words I have touched will disappear, and the people I have loved will forget. The world turned white inch by inch at my fingertips, as boring as a long dream. Until the old man in the hat told me: When you die, everything will be restored. I believed it, and the world returned to its hustle and bustle, and no one recognized me. But the nothingness that was born because of me still stands in the shadow where the sun cannot shine through, shedding tears that will never dry up for me. It turns out that everything in this world can be restored, but "forgetting me" left an irrepairable flaw.
Purpose: "When a person can be mourned by the nothingness he created, he has overcome the nothingness itself."