Tian Xiaotian. I kept leaving, leaving.
From the north, to the warm south, to the desolate western regions, flying back and forth like migratory birds.
What am I looking for? Like? Ideal?
I am actually asking myself to verify a question, whether I am me, the sincere me.
I still like music, the starry sky at night, and the warm wind.
I like clean words, clean souls, and clean eyes.
The soul will never betray, so where does the wound on the cross come from?
We like excitement, but we must find the truth in loneliness.
So what is reality.