Day 61 · The neighborhood after the rain, the air carries the smell of earth.

Puddles reflect the sky, a shallow pool, clouds swimming through it. The leaves are wet and shiny green. A bird is singing, hiding somewhere in a tree, its call crisp and clear, as if saying goodbye to the rain.
I stand by the window and watch for a long time.
Thinking about the market situation these days.
The group chat has gone quiet, no more sharing screenshots, even the KOLs who give signals have posted fewer updates. Someone asked: What should we do? Cut? Run?
I don’t know.
But what I do know is — the rain will stop.
No matter how heavy the rain, it will stop. When it does, the sky may not clear immediately, but at least, it won’t keep raining. The leaves will be washed clean, the air will improve, the accumulated water will slowly seep into the soil, nourishing the buried seeds.
Floating losses are the same.
It’s not the end, it’s the process. The market is reshuffling, cleaning up, removing the uncommitted. Those who stay behind, waiting for the rain to stop, will find the air cleaner than before, the sunlight brighter than before.
A friend sent a message: Why are you so calm?
I said: It’s not calmness, it’s belief.
Believing that the seeds planted will sprout, believing that the sunny days will be warmer, believing that these sixty-one days were not wasted. Those reviews, those reflections, those nights of holding back from cutting — they will turn into rewards someday.
The rain is almost over.
A small patch of blue appears on the horizon, faint, like someone erased a bit of gray with an eraser. Soon, the sun will peek out from there.
Day 61, still at the card table. Waiting for the rain to stop, waiting for the sun to shine.
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