In the first year without you, I worked hard to practice eating alone, practicing walking alone, and practicing holding an umbrella alone.
In the second year without you, I started to get used to eating alone and trying to distinguish the taste of food in my mouth; I started to get used to walking alone and trying to listen to the sound of flowers blooming on the roadside; I started to get used to holding an umbrella alone and trying to taste the silence of rainy days.
In the third year without you, I got used to eating alone, knowing that candies are sweet and lemons are sour; getting used to walking alone, knowing that the music of flowers blooming is subtle but beautiful; getting used to holding an umbrella alone, knowing that rainwater will turn into elves when it jumps on the umbrella surface.
I spent three years helping you find reasons to leave, and you used three years of silence to destroy my supposed reasons. Finally, I thought I could let go calmly, but little did I know that in my life after letting go, your shadow still often appeared in my midnight dreams.