The years lingering at the fingertips——
Seventeen years old. Like a piece of pure white paper.
Seventeen years old. Like a lotus that emerges from the mud but remains unstained.
Cheng Chen's seventeen-year-old life was full of haze, darkness, and emptiness. Only the pitiful sunlight penetrated the gap. Shoot her. Let her see hope.
But is that hope her dawn?
Or is it just an out-of-reach luxury?
Hovering on the edge of dreams. Seventeen years old. It's a wound she can't heal.
As if. It hurts when touched, and cracks when touched. The bleeding wouldn't stop.
However, this too shall pass.
Goodbye, I am seventeen years old and it hurts when I touch you.
Wang Xiyao, you are like a cigarette that cannot be quit... Always living in my world. Let me. Can't escape intact...
——2009, 12, 3 [Cheng Chen Blog]