The world is too chaotic and we need to grow up, so we pretend to be mature.
We are not strong, but we dare not give up.
We are not brave, but we cannot retreat.
We are not the father, but we must kill in the name of the father.
We are too young and look forward to weathering the storm.
But the future is too far away, and we are so humble in the face of time.
One breath, one breath, one blink of an eye, one year, one year, one prosperity.
The heartbeat at the moment of birth cannot be listened to until the moment of death on the bedside.
Until then, do you still remember that in the bluestone alley, you held my hand and walked through the mottled sunshine?
Conception: