Transmigrating Across a Thousand Years to Love You

With clumsy hands, I sketch her portrait on white paper. One after another, the drawings end up in the wastebasket.

In her final second, she still wore the smile she had when we first met.

Her retreating figure hid a sorrow left unresolved.

Time counts backward, like cherry blossoms drifting down.

Without her, life has no color anymore.

I bury my longing for her in my diary, and wait for time to give it polish.

The pen in my hand begins to slip.

Gradually, I have nothing left to say.

Why has my breathing gone astray?

My thoughts grow sluggish.