I hate a lot and like a lot, but there is little "love".
My dear, you tell me your sadness, but who can I tell my sadness to?
There are not so many whys, nor are there so many ifs.
When will you think of me? When will you remember me?
Forget the past, or you won't be sad. Look forward to the future, and there will be hope.
Being obsessed with love, in the end, still choose freedom, quietly let go.
Make yesterday void, now you're in front of me,
I know, it's my fault, I've been naughty, but I just can't find any reason to continue comforting myself,
Love is too short, while forgetfulness lasts too long.
Excessive past memories, on each lonely day, quietly miss,
Me, do you only have "perfunctory" now?
Gun, loneliness is rare.