Who told me that the soul always has a place to rest? I used to believe that it was because I didn't know what kind of material the soul was and whether it could experience the passage of time.
The irritable world has covered our eyes and blocked our ears. We are like a speck of dust, without purpose or power. We move forward mechanically, hitting our heads and bleeding. Occasionally, we want to turn around and see the traces of where we came from. A breeze blows away the footprints. In the end, dust must return to dust. Dust is dirt. You and I are just shadows, crawling dirty.
In this hustle and bustle city, there have been real and fake experiences. Looking back on the past twenty years, I have been stumbling forward, being cunning, loving deeply, and finally being completely buried by myself. I always thought that what I wanted was vigor and bustle, but I didn't know that the essence of this world is peace and quiet. Until I closed my eyes, I thought I was wrong after all...
Intention: