I asked them to keep diaries for three years, and as you can imagine, every time I opened a page, I would have intense emotions rushing towards me. I am an older man and sometimes I choke to the point where I can't breathe. They always pound their fists and tears into the diary. Sometimes the sentence is very short, just "I hit someone today, but he deserves it." Sometimes the sentence is also very complicated, and the last writing is spread by the hot liquid, "I don't like Xia Yan anymore." The period that falls is like an ugly crying face.
Each of their diaries is on my bookcase, borrowed from me.
I tell their stories in my own language, crumpling the upside-down, confusing, and incomprehensible words scattered in time and space into pages of paper. Our voices overlapped, angry, painful, hoarse, for those things we wanted to say.
If you don't want to see a dirty world, then let it rot.
If you want to escape from here, then fly by any means necessary.
Because the intertwining of love and pain is the ultimate romance.
So just grow up crying and laughing. Don't be wronged, don't be sad, don't regret, just like your sixteen, seventeen, or eighteen years old, grow up bravely.
Intention: One day, we will learn how to love.
