Whose story is stained with dust.
Whose once was beyond recognition and riddled with holes.
Whose past has surfaced for people to talk about and laugh at.
Time flies, white horses pass by, reincarnations pass by, and finally become dusty.
I have a jug of wine, which is enough to soothe the wind and dust, listen to the affairs of the world, and smile at the people in my dreams.
"I have a story, do you have any wine?"
"No."
"There is tea in the shop, please don't take it personally."
"..."
I will update it from time to time, and I will write it when inspiration strikes.