For each soul who journeys on in silent perseverance.
I like lying on the spring lawn in a daze.
There are often different kites circling in the sky.
When I was seven years old, my family had a swallow-shaped kite.
It had a thin wooden frame and was covered with a layer of gauze.
It has been hanging on my wall for much longer than it has been in the sky.
One spring, I begged my parents to let it fly.
The wind was too strong that day. I did'nt have the power to tame the wind.
Everything happened too fast. The kite and the birds fly far away together.
Only a few scars left on my plams and endless accustations. Such traces are deeply engraved in my mind and can be seen everywhere.
Later in life, I drifted like a kite that was released.
Every time I arrived at a new place, I struggled to sleep in a strange bed.
At this moment, I think of the kite that day and see the scars left on my palms.
I can't control the wind's strength. I can't control the line.
I only know the old scars on my plams have faded.
Spring again, I look out the car window. A song celebrating spring from long years ago plays on the radio.
The wind does not stop. It keeps flying on.
The wind does not stop. It keeps flying on.