I have never had such a strong desire to write something, although when I came up with this idea I didn't even have the slightest idea or hint of a story. But I insisted on writing, probably because I failed again and again, maybe because it was so fragmented that I couldn't see any vitality in the future. There were too many pessimistic things gathered in my heart that I couldn't express, but I had to surround myself with a simple and open-minded shell, making it airtight. I don't know what I would write in such a state of mind, whether it would be compassion for others, or the self-healing that I really hope for.
Updated in the early morning, duration unknown.