[½»Á÷] Turn Left, Turn Right.

                 Don¡¯t count every hour in the day, make every hour in the day count.

Turn Left, Turn Right

They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful.

He and she live not far from each other,
He is used to turn right, while she turn left,
they never met.

Just like most who live in the same city,
but never know each other.

But,
Life is full of coincidences,
Two parallel lines may join one day.

Then one day,
He met her in the park,

Just like lovers who have seperated for a long time.
The winter day seems no longer gloomy now.

They spend a happy time
and say goodbye hastily due to the sudden rain,
each keeping down a number blured by the rain.

It rains for the whole night,
and they are both too excited to fall asleep.

But,
life is full of coincidences,
The kite in hand may become disconnected.

She stays in for fear of missing any call.
He calls again and again,staring at the fuzzy number.

They are both too depressed to fall asleep.

Time goes by.
He tells himself positively that maybe he will met her in the next stop or in the cafe,
just like the scene in movies.

On the Valentine Day night, wandering on the quiet street, the stars blinking in the sky,
She can't help crying when the lights on the tree are on.

He is still used to turn right,
and she turn left.

Time goes day by day, they never meet again.
They both try to seek a strange yet familiar back figure
in the familiar yet strange city.

The rainy season comes.
Miss him in rainy days.

How could she disappear silently in this city?
The rain stops,
dreaming of tracing her over the city,

At dusk,
She likes sitting in the corner of the city immersing in thought.

The gentle south wind blowing, the sun sets down slowly,
summer day is coming.

The bright night light brings void and loneliness.
Low for no reason, sad about her loneliness.

The moom shines brightly after the thunderstorm.
The city is just like a maze, unable to hear the calling and find the direction.

A bee breaks into her home, dashing against the transparent window aimlessly.
Is he still in the city? Or has he left the city?

The weather turns cool, leaves in the park turning yellow gradually.
Pass the same shady path, and walk on the same falling leaves.

Breezing, leaves begin to roll down.
Their only collective memory is the wet but fuzzy telephone number.

Winter is getting closer.
Memory is fading, doubting the meeting never happened that afternoon.

So close to each other yet so far.
Another day with no sun, no stars and no moon,
It's just as the prison, tiring and suffocating... ...

Drizzle seems no endless,
Decide to leave the desolate city
Travel to a sunny place.

It starts snowing, the city having no snow for years.
He is still used to turn right,
she turn left

The snow falling down quietly.

The weather clears up, white clouds floating in the sky.
Spring has come finally.
¡ª¡ªMay 17, 2011, hp.