Sun, sun, sun
Recently, I often think about the trembling feeling at the end of my life, perhaps like the crisp sound of a maple leaf finally falling on the road. Knowledge cannot heal the wrinkles in the soul, just like personal love cannot warm others. In the cold winter, I made my last excitement for the first snow, as if I was trapped at the beginning, and was trapped at the end of this winter again. In anticipation, I am the bravest, looking forward to the possibility of death and the suddenness of being engulfed by the world. If the moment I have is destined to be a flame that goes out immediately, then when I leave and when I arrive is not so important. My thoughts and output, my anger and love are all of my universes, but it is a drop of water that will immediately evaporate from the universe. A lonely piece of water wanted to stretch out its tentacles to feel the temperature of other people but was burned into smoke by the sun. What the sun reminds me at this moment is not only the warmth of the outside world but also the haze and cold of the place I have prescribed.