If their beginning was actually destined,
Then the final ending cannot be grasped by oneself.
The former afternoon boy disappeared with time,
What is left is her waiting or forgetting.
The summer wind is melodious and long,
The sound of whirring,
It seems to be the breath brought by a galloping horse.
When they meet again,
Is it fate or evil?
The smell of memories lingers back, like the fragrance of camphor,
Sweet enough to be safe, sweet enough to be melancholy,
Looking back again,
It has been ten years of traces and ten years of heart...