Always in the haze, I want to see the person who is difficult to let go, but when I wake up, I sneer at my ignorance and stupidity; I always think that the next step is the answer to the end, but I live half my life in madness; she is always by my side, never leaving, never abandoning; I hate her unrepentance, relying on her warmth, tormenting her stupidity, and in the end I find that my hands are covered with blood. Is it she I hate or myself, is it the world or the heart that I am torturing?