In the first year, I saw your smile as warm as the rising sun, but it was not for me.
The next year, I touched your cold and bitter tears, which you shed for her.
In the third year, I thought I could be your protagonist, but I never thought that I was not even as good as passers-by A, B, and C.
In the fourth year, I watched helplessly as your smile pierced my heart, and my tears filled the sky.
In the fifth year, I am closest to you, but I can never touch your heart.
In the sixth year, we finally parted ways, and my cheap tears shed the last drop for you.
My memories are all barren in the gentle back of you and her.
From now on, I will never learn to cry again. The tears have already dried up in the scars you carved.
These are the six years that I carved out for you, with tears flowing down my spine.
All become desolate.