We don't know where we came from, and we don't know where we are going. We seem to be just an accident of life, with no purpose, no hope, nothing we really like or truly yearn for. So we live inactively all day long, imagining what the gods in the ninth heaven are doing all day long. Are they wandering around aimlessly like us day after day, and then waiting for five hundred years of silence, and then turn into a piece of colorful foam, disappear silently under the sunlight, and completely turn into nothingness.
We were born with the mission of living only for human beings, absorbing sunshine, picking dew, and weaving clouds day after day, all in order to fulfill another life.
The other will never be his own life.