The Graceful Song of the Phoenix

By the time I was born, he was already an adult. I hadn't been part of the first half of his life, so I didn't know how he had grown up, what he liked to eat or what he disliked, whether he got along with his parents and siblings, whether he loved painting or reading, or whether he played the zither or chess in his spare time. I knew nothing about him.

When I was ten, I hid behind the curtain and secretly watched him, wanting to see where my life would lead me.

He looked like an unhappy person, sad and lonely, with sharp barbs sticking out all over him. I thought to myself that when I was older, old enough to enter his life, I could bring him joy and make him feel happy. When he was tired, he would come into my arms for comfort. Perhaps I would end up covered in wounds from his barbs, but what did it matter?

I'm an ordinary person, but my love is anything but ordinary.

Look, I'm about to die, even though I'm still young and should have had a long, long life ahead of me. Please tell him that my life was good, that it was long, and that I was content.