The hustle and bustle of that year was mixed with impetuosity, as misty as the deep night.
He said that everyone is a passer-by in love, just like entering the world of mortals, and you and I are no exception. The principle is the bottom line that he cannot give up. He would rather bury it than violate it.
She thought that he was too persistent and too cruel to herself. She wondered if she could walk so freely if she had to choose again, leaving him alone to face the night.
She just wanted to quietly write a story for him, a story about the past life and the next life.
After several lifetimes of sorrow, can we gain a glimmer of hope?