I pace slowly through the rain, observing the half-broken ruin of an ancient pagoda. Time has blackened its walls and laid bare its orange bricks. What color did it once boast? To what heights did it rise? Now, moss and wildflowers grow on its top. At the foot of the pagoda, rows of colorful paper lanterns sway in the wind, lighting the dim evening with their warm orange glow. For some strange reason, the raindrops aren’t soaking my shirt.
Where are the friends I once had? They’ve all left this place behind in pursuit of a better life—just as I once did. But sooner or later, they’ll find themselves back here, playing a role they used to play, wearing all black. And perhaps that’s how we’ll meet again. Such are the people who have left me.
Where is the woman I once held? She has left this place behind and returned to her home—wearing all black. All the sweet words we uttered in the drunkenness of love held no meaning in when faced with the soberness of life. Such is the woman who has left me.
With the event now over, I got in my car and began the journey back up the twists and turns of the hills.