The weather was very cold and there was nowhere to go, so I could only sit next to the little sun and watch movies one by one. She sobbed and woke up from a sickly sleepy sleep, white lace pajamas, a bright red room, and a cold and desolate winter outside. She also has nowhere to go. The time for the swing is over.
The three women, all dressed in pure white, scattered in the blood-like room, like a tragic chorus. Her pain rang out from a delicate music box, in a way that made people smile. Playing with white flowers, her death.
They use a human story to put a person who has just returned from the brink of death back to sleep, and her newly acquired consciousness is pressed back by a series of sentences and dialogues.
Death was breathing in her, and she struggled to take her voice back from death, saying, "I can't take it anymore, can't you help me!?" They turned and hid their faces, which voice was sharper?
Father, you asked the dead to pray for us. Am I being arrogant when I think my pain, exhaustion, doubt and lack of meaning are all my own? Loneliness divides us, runs through us and divides us.
Sin speaks in her body, screams, pushes away, as she breathes in her own body, weeps. "I hate my life because it's set in stone."
Lord, the crown on the empty seat. May I always approach the world only for you, not for the world. While I'm still doing the latter, my purgatory isn't over. I must continue to suffer until the time you have promised my soul, unknown to me, comes.
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