There is no truth in this world, because the whole world is a reflection in water, layer after layer, deception and deception. This is the truth.
Deception is the truth.
Uncovering the truth beneath the truth is accompanied by bursts of labor pain, and even the obscure vagueness of miscarriage.
What's next?
Life can make a well-planned conspiracy,
identity is just a mask where mockery,
family affection, kindness, survival, is the moonlight pouring on the face when looking up at the sky?
But, if you still have love, if you still have a trace of me that you can't let go, can you say it's true?
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