Once, she firmly believed that one day the fog would clear. But she waited and waited and waited, as if she had waited for a century and spent her whole life. She seemed to see hope, but her hope was shattered again. Her persistence and perseverance seemed to slowly become a joke.
"I also want to believe in true love, but what's the point of whether I believe it or not now? The me you love is no longer me... Will the clouds and mist disperse? I once thought you would blow it away, but now it doesn't matter whether it disperses or not."
Purpose: Which is more important, reality or dreams?