Embrace

 　　Please give me a hug; we are each other's only solace in the world.

　　It's always after rushing by that we realize the memory of those hugs.
　　Those youthful marks are branded into my soul like irons. When I finally remember, a burning pain always spreads through my mind. Then, I feel exhausted, until a feeling of utter relief fills my heart. The human heart is strong. I'm sure I am.
　　Even with an unremarkable appearance, even with a body that can be considered humble and insignificant. When I walk into a crowd, you can only see a black, flowing dot.
　　I've given my embrace generously to many people—perhaps my kind parents, perhaps wounded and weeping friends, perhaps long-lost relatives.
　　Some hugs are faint, like a false formality; while others are like love embedded in each other's lives—why do they always evoke a bittersweet feeling when I think of them?
　　I say, my days pass without leaving a trace.
　　Like a kite, silently, without anyone praying, always flying but habitually bound. Am I still that weak child who can only survive by relying on others? No, it's not that I lack the strength to break free from the ropes. It's that my heart is still that of a fragile child. I'm afraid that if I break free, I'll become even more restless, even more like an idiot. Would you still love me then? So, it's good now. Within the discipline of all my elders, which is also a kind of broad embrace, I just want to be my insignificant self.
　　I hug myself tightly, as if even my body temperature carries a cold, indescribable sadness.
　　As if I came from the future, as if I had no memories at all—perhaps I never even tried to remember.
　　Can you feel it? My heart, my past, is like a blank sheet of paper, perhaps a white wall. There are no sketches on it, no grand historical scenes. It is so calm, gentle, and silent; it is quiet, as if it never existed.
　　Just like me, as if I never existed.
　　When you see that child being punished by the teacher, secretly crying in the corner, will you think of me? When you discover the cowardly tears behind my strength, will you remain unmoved? When you cross the shore of my life, tracing a perfect arc around my heart, would you be willing to give me a hug?
　　I don't know the answer.
　　Just as I don't know who you are, because you've never been here.
　　Meeting, seeing, pitying, embracing.
　　My friends and I repeat this cycle listlessly. I even wonder if it was all arranged by fate. I only say when we part: I haven't touched a single bit of the love you gave me.
　　But I haven't returned it. I can't, I can't forget. When their heads gently rest on my shoulder, when I see their tearful faces, hear their sobs and heartbeats, my heart always aches, and I want to cry with them. Actually, I want to laugh with them, hug them, and share our lost youth.
　　When people embrace, their hearts are closest. I can feel the power of your life, I can feel that we are interdependent, that we are one in spirit.

　　This is my deep and complex love.
　　Please give me a hug, one hug is enough.