I am sitting on the bus.

I sat in the first apartment of the bus, with a window seat. I like this posture, and I also like the slow swing speed.

Suitable for observation and thinking.

Some shadows walk slowly by the window, which are the shadows of this ordinary world. There are aunts who wear aprons to bake pancakes, and parents who lead their children across the road.

There are also office workers who rush to and from work, as well as dancing aunts and grandfathers.

There is still hope that the eyes outside the window will fill the sky and observe the world silently.

I sit here every day and walk through here twice, once in the morning and once in the evening.

People outside the window, day after day, are repeating the same action, and we are all arranged by a magical hand.

All strangers, at the same time, keep meeting.

All strangers feel the same sadness when they walk.

I looked out of the window as if looking for the magic hand hidden behind the sky.

I fantasized that everyone outside the window looked up and reached out to shake hands with that magical hand.