There is a kind of pain that goes beyond words. There is a kind of hatred that cannot be lifted up. There is a kind of hatred that is buried deep in my heart. There is a kind of me that would rather not have lived here.
The world is so big, but there is no room in my heart. There is only the vitality of spring, but my heart is dead.
The dark night erodes the heart and becomes no longer sentimental, and there are no more stars
The face reflected by the ice, a ghost under the sky, traveling through the past and present for many years, but still haven't found the answer I want.
The white clothes, passing through the corners of the clothes with his hands, sent a chill to the bones, freezing the body
The world is in turmoil, the drums in the evening and the bells in the morning ring in my ears