One afternoon,
Pick up the fishing rod
Sit by the river and fish.
This afternoon may be in the spring with flowers and plants everywhere.
It was probably on a rainy summer day in Mao Mao.
It may also be in the autumn when yellow leaves fly and dance.
Or in winter, when the snow falls on the floor.
I guess
I will sit by the river all afternoon.
Until the sun sets in the west.
Until the night buried the river.
but
I don't feel much like fishing.
I just want to hold the fishing rod.
I just want to sit by the river.
I just want to, just want to.
Maybe I'll see
The face of a boy I know is actually carved on the back of a fish.
Flash across the river.
Maybe I will find the smiling face of a girl I know shining in the eyes of a fish.
The little boy who used to bully me may turn into a crab and pinch me again.
The little girl who once said that she likes being with me may turn into a butterfly and land on my left shoulder.
I will sit quietly by the river.
Watch the river drip.
Listen in a hurry
Everything I think.
All this happened in such a season.
An afternoon like that
I came to the river alone that day.
Then sit down and start fishing.
The name of that river.
People call it time.