Sailor on the distant boat,
Where are you?
Sometimes I hear "Die."
How are you, my friend?
Sailor on the distant boat,
I, too, sometimes say "Die."
Can you hear?
The beautiful dawn, as well.
Sailor on the distant boat.....

Perhaps I would no longer grieve, even if that person were to die.

You may throw away the letters of the living,
But the letters of the dead must be kept.

925 put me in that open car and tore down the road.
“There’s something I have to show you,”
She was urgent, yet her hair, cutting the wind, fluttered pleasantly.
It was the purity and brilliance of a meteor’s burning tail falling headlong.
In the end—
Where did we go, and what did we see?
All I remember is her burning hair.

Today’s question:
If there is only one thing I can be proud of,
What would it be?
With such thoughts in mind,
I skip school and head to a Christmas rendezvous.
In the distance, the school building looks ready to crumble.
Squinting, I take one last look, bid it farewell.
I glance at my wristwatch; it is properly broken.
I face straight ahead.
On the other side of the suspension bridge,
That person stands—
Someone like me, who has somehow survived until today.
The raging river below was rising,
threatening to engulf the bridge.
Now was the moment to cross the river. I begin to walk.
The bridge twists and sways as if testing me.
The waves leap up and crash over,
relentlessly drenching everything.
Just a little more. Just a little more. Just a little more. Just a little more.
With trembling steps,
I finally take that one last step,
leaping into his arms.
If I can firmly grasp those interlaced fingers,
At last, I can say without a shadow of a doubt,
“I have lived for love.”

The world lets me hear
A pop of popcorn.
If I hear no pop,
The popcorn burns.
However,
The world lets me hear
A pop of popcorn.