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My life is like a long rope, with no end in sight. The starting point is connected to the birth of a baby, and I am confused; the end point is connected to anxiety, chasing after the mirror. After going through countless knots, this rope always thinks that my existence is meaningful. The rope touches the knots on its body, feeling a little sad. It also fantasizes that without these knots, it can be longer, and maybe it can do things it cannot do, such as tying larger pieces of goods, and seeing more things that it can tie. It has forgotten what kind of rope it is, its own happiness and gains, and only cares about the knots on its body. Finally one day, it remembered, very simply, these knots were just to make it remember, remember that it might just be a rope used to remember things. Only if the rope is willing to be itself can it reach the real end. Lu: Here, I analyze myself, beat my heart to pieces, then pick it up and put it in the sun.