Snowy Night

It's snowing, flake by flake, bringing the story of which day. I no longer hate you, knowing that you too have your own difficulties—meeting need not be a previous acquaintance, helplessly the flowers fall. Just like that snowflake, it can never land where it wants to go. I no longer miss you; you have your own life, and in your life you have your own stories. Everything about us, like the snowflakes, has long since melted into the horizon—unfindable, invisible.

The snow has fallen, leaving no trace to follow. Is a person's life like that too? The memories left in people's hearts will eventually fade—what could possibly last forever? It's snowing; will the snow be cold? When the snow is cold, who will give it a hug? Happiness is like that ray of sunlight after the snow, warming people, but it makes us inadvertently lose everything.

The weary heart, like that first snow of early winter, awaits the sunlight, knowing that after this it will turn to dust, yet still walks forward without turning back. The snow is cold, the snow is tired too; the snow will melt—that is the snow's fate. I am cold, I am tired too; I will die—that is my fate.

One day, I, like that snowflake, will fly gently, dance gently, and melt gently at my grave. Heaven fell in love with earth; the snow is the love letter heaven wrote to earth, perhaps. And who have I fallen in love with, and for whom have I written a love letter? I have fallen in love with death; my life is a love letter written to her. Step by step I walk toward her, toward my grave; I spend my whole life composing a love letter, which others then carve onto my epitaph.

What is gone is already gone; my past is no longer my concern, my present is fading away. Let you go, leaving behind your dream. I am a piece of snow, flying freely, singing freely, I fly into her pupils, beginning the next cycle of reincarnation.