"Plant" I thought I was a sunshine plant. I need sunshine to touch me, and I need a vast space. I am so happy in the face of wind and rain and spring and autumn. I put my roots into the depths of the ordinary, into the gap, as lush as possible, as far as possible not barren. War, axe, fire, illness and inevitable life may make me sad. Otherwise, why do I bend like a sad heart?
Otherwise, why do you want to shed leaves, always look up and pray for the years, the traces of white clouds flying wildly in the blue sky, watching the sunshine so warm and clean in front of you, over and over again, year after year, the gradually rough skin can stand the carving, the chains in the bones, circles, mountains or mountains, the brothers and sisters around you are flourishing and fluttering, and the forests are one after another.
I am lost in the middle, changing, betraying, rotating, lingering, all far away, standing and stiff, which is a habit. I want to go to the edge, to know another language, lying, acting, hypocrisy, running around, smoke, where there is human nature, there is laziness, struggle, revolution, conspiracy, creation, yearning, subjectivity, and the meaning is up to me.
Choose or wait, why do they have class, the gap between the rich and the poor, corruption and festivals, why do they deprive our territory, destroy our ancestors, cut off our sources, and later, why do they reshape us? When we grow up, it means value. For them, rags are rags. I'm just a sunshine plant.