I think everything will chase the wind and sand, leave the mother's arms like a human being and come to the corner of the earth, and eventually fall like a star. Is the same thing true about our love? When I ask my lover, he never answers, he just smiles. His smile was like a knife piercing my heart. I wished he had told me directly: "Our love is the smallest thing." Instead of his smile. The clouds on those days are always so pale, just like my face. "Where is the hope?" This is what worries me.
In Beringian year 1142 of Andromeda, which is 7229 AD, 2000 years after humans left the solar system, I served on Wh-33,...
Intention:
