Fuchenqi

A speck of floating dust, without roots or shore, drifting in the wind. From his childhood when his life experience was a mystery, to his youth when he ran away from home; From the despair of cutting one's wrists to the breakdown of two marriages; From the grievance of having no one to support me, to drifting like a duckweed for half my life. If no one crosses me, I will cross myself. No one loves me, I love myself. I'm looking for a place to live in the dust, Slowly tell me about my scarred life, but my struggle to heal myself.