I once had a dream to write a collection of poems every year to describe my life in the most implicit and true way. The previous collection of poems was called Passing Through the World. Only after a serious illness did I really understand what life is. It is not passing by, but should be continuous. It is a continuous road, moving forward. People are just walking seriously. No matter how long or short it is, it is a complete and continuous road of life that belongs only to themselves. . . Cherish it and be kind to it. . .
Then my dream continues, in the new year, the poetry collection continues. . . .
20 Years old. . . .
Conception: