I looked ahead quietly.
Ahead is a snow-white wall.
Been stagnant for a long time,
I opened my palm and carefully counted the interlaced lines on my palm.
Which section of that tortuous lifeline should belong to me?
Maybe I wasn't meant to belong to this world.
This body does not belong to me, this memory does not belong to me.
The evening glow was like fire all over the sky, burning, burning, and finally turned into ashes.
"Who would want to experience that painful and despairing feeling again."
Concept: fictional tragedy