When a trace of dawn light secretly slips through the window,

Understood, another day is about to begin,

What doesn’t fit is that bed, isn’t it,

Keep seeing it on my feed these days,

Life has no such thing as endless tomorrows, only the unpredictability of fate,

Don’t say it,

And don’t use that phrase, gathering flowers in the morning to pick up at dusk,

And don’t wait—so many people are waiting for a less busy moment, waiting for the right conditions,

The pleasure of this era—gratification instantly turns into boundless tastelessness,