Probably that's how the distance between the hearts and minds has narrowed.

A cat, two people, standing quietly in the warm and slightly humid garden night, surprisingly warm and harmonious, even though I come from the turbulent and filthy earth, they come from the unknowable vastness.

In this situation, the stereotypical constraints of labels, categorizations, definitions, etc., all break the shell, and they are just themselves, and I am just me. Independent of each other, but there is a kind of hidden spiritual bond.

"How many fireflies have you collected?" asked Auster.

"It's almost full, you see. Schust held the glass jar to the front.

"Good. O'Ao took the glass jar.

The silver glittering glass bottle is so beautiful that it feels a little illusory, like the collision of ice crystals and diamonds, and the tinkling sound track crosses the sky.

I don't know what they're going to do with catching fireflies, but I don't seem to really care, because it's beautiful anyway, and that's enough.

Beauty itself may be meaning, and more so than any other meaning. All kinds of vulgarities are detached from the mystery of beauty, and they are left with a shriveled shell of hypocrisy, which is too sad.

"Now, I'll let them go. Ao looked up at Shuster, then turned to look at me again. Its tone is full of reason, as if this is the most logical thing to understand.

The fireflies that had just been collected were immediately released, which sounded inexplicably romantic. Yes, no one dictates that the items you just collect should be kept properly.

There was a sinking sensation near my heart, as if I could smell the mysterious and grotesque schools of deep-sea fish frantically moving through the corals in the dark tunnels of the seabed.

The so-called freedom has a bit of this meaning. The rules are now presented in a state of flux, which may not have been the case at first, and people regard it as an undoubted creed, and public opinion has also made such a hint, so that they believe it to be true, forgetting the confusion of the voice in their hearts.

On a clear night, I had the illusion of rain. It dripped, wetted the skin, and penetrated into the heart.

The moment the cap is opened, the brilliance of the meandering dream that has flowed for hundreds of millions of years swept through the world like a meteor, and then went away freely, happily.

At night, lying in bed, looking up at the blurred ceiling in the dark darkness, I felt a wave of distorted vertigo. Everything that happened on this day was so unreal that I wasn't sure if the image reflected in my eyes was a present existence or a projection of consciousness. I stroked the sheets with my fingers, the touch and temperature of cotton, the soft weave of the weave, and the serenity. Perhaps there is no way for human beings to determine the boundary between the real and the unreal, and even if they can perceive it through their senses, there is no way to prove it.

I rolled over, and the sweat oozing from my back was evaporated by the evening breeze, so comfortable. I feel a little happy in my heart, sometimes I feel that sleep is an escape, no matter what happy or unhappy things happen during the day, when I sleep at night, I am fixed in bed, I feel a sense of security in my heart, all the outside voices can no longer disturb me, and I feel that the whole world belongs to me completely at this time.

How did I get to this dream garden? I've kind of forgotten myself. I hugged the pillow tightly, and my breathing was even and steady as my chest rose and fell.

When I arrived, I met my new friends, O'Ao and Seuster, and had a short but long day. Maybe today is just the beginning of an amazing journey.

I'm looking forward to the unknowns in the future.