Sensual sycamore leaves are scattered everywhere in the wind.
Drifting over the lovers' heads, I saw them cuddling together.
Passing by the prostitute's shoulder, I saw her true feelings for her clients.
Passing by the beggar's feet, I saw him searching the north and south of the earth for love.
Finally, I landed under the floor-to-ceiling windows of the cafe, watching a man explaining other people's love every day.
But he was always alone until the last memory of this sycamore leaf.