Today, after all these years... nine years since I came to know you (not you me)... When loving you began, I was rushing from sixteen-seventeen, girl becoming woman...
That girl with the center-parted hair, braids falling on both sides, wearing her skirt— how many thousand times, in how many thousand forms, she held you in her heart, floating in dreams... You were such an important man then... your name everywhere... your writing in papers, your photographs...
Every Saturday your writing would come in the magazine... I'd finish tutoring and run... I had to have it first, before everyone else... Last year when I went home, I found mother had sold all those old papers with the scrap... I was so angry... all my carefully saved clippings...
Once on your birthday thousands and thousands of people wished you... I was so angry, you know... so many people wanting you... why do they want you? I don't know... only I never wished you... my heart wouldn't let me...
That sixteen-seventeen-year-old girl is so much more mature today... so much has changed in her, been lost... only her feelings for you, her madness—that hasn't changed one bit...
Today, after all these years, when she found you... if she wanted to part her hair down the middle, let braids hang on both sides, wear that old skirt and come before you... would you be very angry? Would you say such a foolish person is not to your liking?
I know nothing... yet my heart yearns so fiercely to recover that time, that moment! Will time give me back what I seek?