Southern Catkins, Northern Willows

That summer

Perhaps it was the summer nineteen years ago.

Cicadas sang in waves.

You chased after me, and I called out to you.

“Zhizhi.”

Perhaps it was the summer nine years ago.

Sunlight scattered in tiny flecks, and the fan palms swayed gently.

I kept repeating,

“Yu Zhinan, Yu Zhinan.”

Or perhaps it was the summer six years ago.

I searched and called out,

“Zhizhi, Zhizhi.”

There was no answer.

We met that summer, but in the end, we spent the rest of our lives together in autumn.

Theme: Dreams and confidence