Returning from the black hole, with a little tiredness

life or death

it's the same

Scrubbing the cup, scrubbing the porthole, rubbing the lens, scrubbing the subconscious

Dark space

Repeatedly polishing a grain of copper

Blue Star will be immortal

Tens of thousands of characters are crackling like a firecracker

But I feel more lonely

How about kneading me into a handful of salt

And sprinkling into the sea?