I think my longing will disappear one day, even if I won't miss you anymore.
I often stand in the wind, letting the breeze blow my hair into a mess. I think I am just a lonely child.
The things I have loved and thought about in this world are slowly passing by as time goes by. But hope is still there, so I will not be helpless. I no longer know whether the past that once belonged to me still exists.
I often think about my life and how I should live it.
I know that my writing has always been pale and feeble, like a decadent flower on a rainy night, exuding the breath of death~~~~~