A petal in my palm, trembling lips, love – a shadow, vanishing fast. I search in it for a lost direction, but the wind notices the answer. Loves me—loves me not, the little flower flies away, our fate within it is promised. In quiet hope, leaning toward the sun, time will tell whether we are meant for each other. Loves me, loves me not, a child's game to play, to me more than an empty echo's sound. Within it is hidden the meaning of a secret gate, where love blooms, never having withered. Loves me—loves me not, so let time tell if we truly are for one another. My heart, hopeful, knows well that I will try, rebuilding anew. Loves me—loves me not, the breeze took the flower away, still I seek strength in myself, in us. I won’t give up, like a weary runner, but I run forward, regardless of time.
