In a book, it's just a string of numbers, something you glance at and pass over. It seems that ten years really can go by. But in real life, ten years is a distant shore you could gaze at until your eyes are weary and still never reach. It's a figure you can search for in the distance countless times and never make out, an echo you can shed countless tears for and still never hear. It's ten springs, ten summers, ten autumns, and ten winters. It's a hundred downward glances and a thousand looks back. It's you growing from innocence into maturity, and him fading from clear to indistinct...
Hope and longing surged day and night like the tide. One promise kept a girl waiting for ten years.
But those ten years have passed, and she waited. What about you?
Where are you?
If I sing above the waves, will you be able to hear me?
