Thinking, loving, remembering, I have grown up. Facts can no longer be faced by escaping. Bleeding wounds will always have the hope of reconciliation. Bleeding wounds, I never imagined that they were given by you. In my heart, I am stubborn and refuse to heal. Imprisoned, the years imprisoned me with my sadness. I don't know what kind of mood I should use to record it. Should I use a tearful smile or record sadness with a smile? I have nothing to grow, and the sadness that has been rubbed into my bones and blood will feel painful every time the night is as cold as water.
Unwilling to compromise, love or hate, could the once desolate sadness be exiled like this? Do I really want to hide you in a place where no one can find me, where no time can take you away?
Maybe all the hope and hope will eventually become a slowly dissipating drama...