On September 15, 2020, at the foot of Tangbula in Xinjiang, the clouds were as heavy as ink.Then, a shower will come.Pick up your pen and write one or two.We always said we would wait until tomorrowLook at the rain falling quietly in the skyWithout an umbrella, I can only runFootprints roll across the torrent with mudTears, accompanied by rain fall on my heartLoneliness, after all, is a person dancing aloneWords are so weak that they deceive themselves
