Just like the winter falling and the slightly unmelted snow,
Our story is yet to end, what awaits is another door ahead.
Interweaved feelings kept distorting,
With that one voice unheard which keeps screaming through the misleading loneliness.
That love just like that of guitar strings,
If gripped too tightly, no melody would speak of a sound.
If gripped too loose, no sound would speak of a melody.
Your heart strings were like that too, filled with fragile feelings of overwhelming pain.
Even if I just strum on it a little it can break the strands entirely and even sully that music of yours.
Embracing the warm breeze leaving winter yet again.
The beginning of my first love bloomed by a summer voice.
With your unrequited reverie from a past untold that came to me.
Our love was a noiseless rhythm unlike that one winter novella,
Not like that evening of a cold breeze─ it was his love story of yesterday.
But still that noiseless rhythm was sweet like this one summer lyrics,
This evening under the heat of the stage─ it was our love story of today... and of our tomorrow that is slowly unfolding
─his winter story, our summer story.