I don't know when I gave my heart to you.
Perhaps it was when you freed me from those heavy iron shackles.
Perhaps it was when you understood and hummed the melody in my song.
Perhaps it was in the spoonfuls of warm, sweet porridge you fed me.
Or perhaps it was the nimble butterfly between your fingers, beating its wings against the paper-covered window.
Or maybe it was because we once entrusted our longing to the same bright moon among the clouds.
