I don't know what the dust in the stranger means in the dark light and shadow, or maybe it's just a sudden illusion, and then the joy and desolation grow wantonly.
It's all accidental. Suddenly I want to write something, or I'm in a bad mood one day, and it disappears forever.
Just a story about being on the verge of death at any time.
I didn't even know where it would start, let alone how it would end.
Let it fend for itself.