Just like lemon juice and rum mixed together, reality and fantasy merge into life. We sway forward in it and make our own way. For a period of time, reality is groping and staggering with immature limbs in exchange for long sighs, fantasy is more prosperous than the flower season in Provence, more brilliant than the sun in front of the Poseidon, and more spiritual than the wandering of all things in the beginning. It's like the thin girl who decorated her thick long hair with too many flowers, surrendering the balance of her life in exchange for the beauty that fills her heart. Well, I think this section of the road is called youth.
What I want to say is the two children and the busy time they passed by.
Conception: