霓虹在凌晨三點(diǎn)剝落，

我把你的名字寫在結(jié)霜的窗，

呼出的溫度又把它擦掉。

耳機(jī)里舊鼓點(diǎn)敲成心跳，

我學(xué)著不回頭，

卻把所有“如果”走成彎路。

最痛的不是失去，

是微笑還掛在臉上，

淚已經(jīng)決定墜機(jī)。

你說(shuō)別哭，

展開更多 ▼

Back from the edge, where the silence screamed my name,

I crawl through the ashes, wearing sparks like shame.

Every tear I left hanging now rains back as flame,

I’m stitched by the echoes, still bleeding but sane.

The night tried to keep me, whispered “stay, you’re free,”

But dawn cracked the darkness, returned my heartbeat to me.

I’m bruised, I’m broken, yet louder than the void I flee—

Back from the edge, and the edge remembers me.