the name is...
At that moment, I raised my horse, not to pray, but to wait for your arrival.
On that day, the Mani heap was built not for practice, but to throw stones at the heart lake.
That January, I shook all the prayer tubes, not to cross over, but to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed on the mountain road, not to see you, but to stick to your warmth.
In this life, turn mountains into water and pagodas, not for reincarnation, but for meeting you on the way.