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Life is a penance, but practice never ends. Being in the human world is actually like existing in an endless falling hell. I often imagine that life will be a song sung by children, in the spring when the flowers are blooming, among the small bridges and flowing water. But even in a dream, I don't dare to believe it easily. Many years ago, I secretly made up my mind to become a great man with great brilliance, but now I am stuck in the quagmire and cannot get out. I am about to indulge myself until death, but I still try to rewrite the trajectory that has already been fixed in my life. The days are really hard, like the gravels falling one by one from the palm of my hand. I look up at the morning light every day and watch the sunset from a distance. I often tell myself to find the reason for a beautiful life in this painting. But even so, many years have passed. I'm still squirming in this world. But I keep searching for meaning...