Time Grants Me Empty Joys

A butterfly, having kissed the summer, perished in the winter, for it could not escape the biting cold

In the world where I live, I have seen that butterfly, which awakened my pain and brought me a warm flower

You say, the one I love most, wearing a false mask, is gentle, strong, indifferent, hiding countless adorable secrets

He said, I am a clown who draws a prison for myself, always performing a lonely and pitiful play alone

She said, "Xiang Qianlan, the meaning of my existence is to destroy everything you have."

That summer we met, entangled, and parted ways. That harsh winter we reunited, struggling and tearing apart. The blood-red vines entwined around the tail of memory, an endless game continues to unfold—what I love, what I hate, all buried in a youth devoid of companionship. I am a butterfly with nowhere to go, unable to fly across the vast sea, unable to escape the evening snow, for in the unfathomable darkness, there is no warmth, no light, no love, nothing at all