If one day I ran into you again in this vast city, I wouldn't want to cry or smile. Would it be all right if we simply passed each other in silence? We were young once, surrounded by beautiful flowers, not knowing what sorrow was. Now, when I want to speak, I can only gaze at you. Six years ago, I chose to leave. Six years later, I chose to come back. If I believed in fate, I would never step into your embrace again. The mountain knows nothing of sorrow, yet gazes at the water. The moon knows nothing of worry, yet bows to the sun. The day I saw you, the sunlight was warm and the water gentle. It seemed all our days would unfold beautifully, but that was only wishful thinking, words left unspoken.
Time has put too much distance between us, and the years have gone by too quickly. Fate is a strange loop we can neither escape nor break free of. I still love you, but I'd rather go far away. I never want to think of those afternoons we spent together again, or walk that tree-lined path, or visit that library. I don't want to start over. Perhaps it's better that we owe each other than that we face one another in silence. Promises are too light, and appearances change too easily. I still remember the wish we made back then: peaceful days and happy years. But time always slips away in secret. The strings and pipes have fallen silent, and this melody of peace can never again play the steady, beautiful years we once knew. I want to tell a story of love lost and found again in 100,000 words.
Green willows sway beneath the brightening moon. A song in the peach garden hides its beauty, then tells of sorrows that break the heart. The stream rushes beneath the little bridge, while pale ink washes deepen on the page. The spring breeze slips past unseen, leaving only the cuckoo's cries.
