If we say: "You were born before I was born, but I was born before you were old. You hate that I was born late, and I hate that you were born early." It is a sigh of not being able to meet each other. Then after we meet and go through a journey, because of too much helplessness, we finally separate and say goodbye... What kind of pain and sadness should it be?
When the love you think is perfect, what comes next?
If a mirror is like a mirror and is shattered into pieces after a collision, it's just us afterwards:
Am I splicing the lost dream from the fragments; or is it that after my injury, I carry a sadness that can hurt the world?
Who will be changed beyond recognition in the end? Still no one can escape unscathed!
I would like to pick off the fragments and treasure the beauty of the passing moment.