by Liu Ying
Where are you, my friend?
I still remember that weekend.
It was a sunny Friday evening.
At the station, you were waiting.
Two years ago, I chose to leave.
I never forget what I used to have.
I miss you every day and night.
But I know I have lost the right.
Vernal breeze blows your soft words.
You compared my eyes to quiet lakes.
We have lost touch for many decades.
You know how much my heart breaks.