Death is both an end and a new beginning. Flowers bloom and wither, cycling through endless renewal. All beings can only let go of attachments and accept the natural flow of things.,The initial discomfort gradually faded with time. Twenty years of life polished away humanity, and past memories were gradually suppressed by animalistic instincts. Only occasionally, when lost in thought, would he recall the sorrowful faces of his family by his bedside. When he had nothing to do each day, all he could do was try his best to remember his past life, fearing that one day he might forget everything and be left with only survival instincts, his passion gone, becoming a cold-blooded creature.,Looking out at the rain curtain, it swirled and remained motionless.。