Isn't a life that is too plain the real life that poets yearn for? Or should we live as magnificently as in novels? Maybe I am too idle. I am always groping for trouble. I always feel that I am going crazy with idleness.
I was about to start writing, but my mind was empty. I thought it was a turbulent time before I wrote. Maybe I have been looking for a sense of security subconsciously. But I found that men in real life are not as perfect as in novels. They also look forward to the sense of security brought by women. But women like Indifferent, who do not have a sense of security in themselves, have indescribable persistence. Then write the story of Indifferent in a calm way.