When I looked up next to the office chair, the wind blew over me, and I was thinking that this position seemed like a cage. But I walked in with my head held high and full of resistance, so I bumped into each other.
I'm tired, just lazy for a while, just soft for a while.
The world in the cage turns out to be so wonderful, and it turns out that high grayscale is also my protective color. But I occasionally think about the gust of wind, and the child playing the accordion or bagpipe jumping out of the window and floating away along the river.
Concept: Is free will really as hard as steel?