August 7, 2025
At the beginning of autumn, when encountering a festival or a major solar term, I start to miss you again and want to cry.
Everything is fading away, which makes me feel even sadder, a real sense of loss.
In this life, everything is so meaningless, dust returns to dust, dust returns to dust, even the few remaining memories will eventually be scattered like dust without a trace.
I can't feel the slightest happiness in anything, and all kinds of tortured feelings are filled with my body and mind. In this life, it is really better not to come next time. If I become a monk, my name will be called "I am not here", and my death will be engraved on my tombstone.