Which day will I stand in a daze under the blue sky?
When will I leave quietly like the wind?
At what point will I be quiet?
At which second will I find you?
At that moment I will find you from the lost world
Outside the window is the sound of cars whizzing by
The sound of rain has long been destined to be buried under the rumble of cars
There are constant ripples in the small pool on the roadside
It seems to be trying its best to express the existence of rain.
Time is always in the gorgeous illusion, growing old...
There is still an unfinished road under my feet
It's like a road with many forks
And the end point is often just next door