If this is fate, then there will be no more struggle...
On a hot afternoon, a thin drizzle suddenly fell from the evening sky. Cao Yi did not hold an umbrella. At 1.6 Meters tall, she wore a pair of pink lace canvas shoes. She plugged her mobile phone into her ears and listened to the songs she only wanted to listen to. She ran on the football field with a red track and occasionally kicked out of bounds football. In such a confused evening, I felt such a lonely atmosphere alone. If running is soaked with sweat, then it is my silent sadness. The afternoon evening is quiet, sometimes it is so quiet that it makes people feel uneasy, even so quiet that it makes people feel depressed and want to run away. What surged out was not tears, but countless drops of sweat, countless indisputable cells roaring, scattered on the red runway, and soon evaporated. There was nothing to prove that it had been there. If this was its fate, I would no longer struggle. Only Cao Yi knew that it had come, but he could not escape its disappearance after its existence.
Reminding me of Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude", perhaps loneliness is not necessarily so sad. It is fate or transformation, acceptance or struggle.