All things are like the alternation of day and night.
Their metabolism can never be changed, and their joys, sorrows, and joys cannot be escaped. It seems that they have the rigid but regular persistence of the Creator to separate day and night.
Whether white or black, they all have the same obsession in their bodies.
They, such a group of people, seemed to have nothing in common.
But their gazes, which seemed to have no intersection, would eventually be as profound as the night under the shadow of the leaves during the day.
This life is magnificent, but whose glory is it fighting for?