Light pink, a floral scene-spring when I first learned what loneliness is.
                                            The fleeting petals scatter away,
                                            Brushed by the fingertips of the wind.
                                            
                                            Waves that seem so quiet,
                                            The summer sun too dazzling-
                                            On the shore of my heart,
                                            They broke apart in white foam.
                                            
                                            At the end of passing seasons,
                                            Who is the person standing still?
                                            With trembling feelings,
                                            I held myself tight, all alone.
                                            
                                            What kind of day will tomorrow be?
                                            From the window where I rest my cheek on my hand,
                                            I'll go to find that formless dream, surely.
                                            
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                                            Walking through the streets as they change color,
                                            In autumn, I long to meet someone.
                                            The gentle sadness of evening-
                                            It feels like I could become kind.
                                            
                                            The powdered snow melting in my frozen palm
                                            Looked so much like tears,
                                            As I met warmth in winter.
                                            
                                            They say the person searching for happiness
                                            Is the happiest of all.
                                            As the turning seasons
                                            Change our moments into memories-together.
                                            
                                            What kind of wind will blow tomorrow?
                                            From the window where I begin to walk,
                                            Let's cross over the dream that will soon come into view.