Love Will Eventually Fade

In the season of the summer light‑year, even if you hide among the crowd, I can always be the first to see you. Perhaps when I was young I didn’t care, and only later did I understand how a full blossom of peach‑flower brushed the spring wind. The unspoken secret words seem to have been dissolved at this moment.

If there is another life, I would still choose you. You are a dawn, and also a hidden weed. Whatever, I wish to say that love is everything I give you. The ruthlessness of the past has even turned into a delicate butterfly now.

The decade of frost passes; he and she each close their hearts, locking their feelings into a secret stash that no one inquires about. Love grows in time, but it meets conflicting thoughts like a crossfire. Finally a cold moon buries the flower soul, and the young man still loves with hatred—crazy.

After that, day and night, love and hate coil into a deadlock within bone and blood—pain in the heart, knowing it must be cut, yet always turning back in memory.

She carries a heart full of regret, bears an unopened old letter, and walks step by step to the end of the return path; he guards the empty past, stubbornly clings to old things he refuses to let go, always saying she only left temporarily, refusing to believe that the farewell was already eternal.

Later, after many seasons, he eventually, with others’ help, pulls another person into a typical wedding banquet, filling the desk with children’s chatter, not seeing an old friend perched on a crane’s branch. But one evening when twilight drifts through the window, his fingers still unconsciously touch old things, his eyes dim, remaining only a vast emptiness no one can decipher.