“The wind swept away every trace of you. Even the pen I use to remember you can no longer write a complete ‘us.’ The year the osmanthus bloomed most beautifully, you said you would wait for me. Now the tree has withered, and I’m still waiting for a homecoming that will never come.”
“Love rises with the wind, but when the wind dies down, the ache remains. You’re the love I hide in the autumn breeze. The maple leaves bear witness: my love will never end.”
But later, the wind stopped, and her stubborn devotion to him faded away with it.
