This article is translated from the Chinese original.
Tear open a rain until its stem is exposed
Cracks spread into countless moments and places
If the thing I love has not yet appeared
That only means
That I myself can only take shelter
Inside a few outdated songs
My questions are stronger than my fear
My habit is to draw out all the nerves of a thing
Hold them in my hand, let them cool into language
Tenderness retreats like patterned rain
I will tear them open until the deepest night is laid bare