Memory is a river, and the men and women in the story pass by it. I am a ferryman who has lived on the river for more than a hundred years, and I only ferry those who are disheartened. I don't experience life or death, I don't experience love, I only witness the so-called love.
Only later did I realize that people in the world are often labeled as having a lovesickness complex, which is why there are so many crazy men and women who hate women, who are crazy about love, who die because of love and are hurt by love.
(This article is mostly short stories. I usually write down the plots as soon as I think of them. They are just for writing practice, but they are also written down carefully.)