With these few words, I begin this blog.

Against a pitch-black background, my life is so much like a dim, indistinct point.
Leaning alone against a solitary paulownia tree, I face the slightly mocking gazes of passing strangers with a posture of looking back and a smile.
The years tremble, and the sunlight stretched and condensed into threads resonates into a piercing expectation.
In the instant I cover my ears and lower my head, the person I had been waiting for arrives gracefully, only to leave just as deliberately, without the slightest pause or hesitation…
My solitary posture cannot call back the vanished past, and the mottled traces beneath me can no longer piece together a richly colored future.
I want to hold your hand, to take you to see that sea of maple trees,
The resolute figure faces south, no longer waiting for the northern woods.
Yes, the wind rages inside the window, and standing outside it, I can still hear flowers bloom and wither.
Even if I take off my headphones, I still cannot take off this so-called love.
In the dark porcelain cup, thick helplessness is everywhere; yet after settling, it becomes as plain as the soundstage of Sennheiser…
I will take you, take you to see that stretch of tiles, as long as you can remove the love hanging around your neck;
I will take you, take you to see that sea, as long as you are willing to hold out your little finger.
At the very moment the ruler snaps, will the air before your eyes tremble?
In the instant we brush past each other, your steps are still as smooth as ever.
They all say it, yes, they all say it like this: “A butterfly cannot fly across the sea, because there is no longer any hope on the other shore…”