Missing is condensed into sour sobs, how many heartbreaks do the bitter tears carry? Who said that time is the treatment of pain? Who said everything would be okay? Day by day, month by month, year by year, when at vulnerable time, there is always a voice, a familiar face appearing, let me clearly see this fragile heart dry ice burning in the air releasing the wild white gas. The cold thing burned the beautiful hand, but nobody knew that it even would burn me into ashes.