ChiLaMotNguoiVoHinh
There are days when the Underground no longer echoes with fierce growls or hurried footsteps. All that remains is a late slant of sunlight filtering through rock crevices, draping a vast, quiet glow over yellow flowers.
We often lose ourselves gazing toward grand and distant horizons, inadvertently forsaking a quiet, lonely corner of our own souls. We grow used to chasing brilliant lights, forgetting that beneath our own private skies, every heart is the protagonist of its own song. No existence is ever a meaningless remnant. There are pains that have settled into silent ruins, yet there are also seeds of love quietly rising from the ashes.
Lay yourself down upon the soft bed of yellow blossoms, and let the deep earth whisper into your ear the last lingering gentleness of this mortal world...