CHUỒN CHUỒN (bay thấp)

Rain always comes at the wrong time: wet streets, unspoken words, and a look that says more with silence than with explanations. But somewhere nearby, a dragonfly flies by - like a small sign that sadness is not forever, that even the heaviest downpours can turn into memories.

Love here seems fragile and awkward: promises diverge, kisses dissolve faster than drops on glass, and vows are lost along with the summer thunderstorm. And yet, there is something warm in this transience - as if life itself suggests that even fleeting encounters can be a miracle.

The music sounds like quiet rain on the roof: at first it aches the heart, then unexpectedly calms it. Because every downpour ends, and the dragonfly still takes flight.