Souls drift like solitary islands, aimlessly wandering, as if searching, as if waiting. The lush greenery outside the window seems to mock the emptiness within. The leaves rustle gently in the breeze, yet it fails to stir any real emotion. What remains in this empty shell? Only desires controlling the body, mindlessly immersed in fleeting pleasures, eager to be released. This is the sincerity of life, a bitter irony.