The past couldn't pass.
　　The memory wouldn't back.
　　
　　 Nothing is immortal.
　　
　　 What I can't get rid of
　　 may have been buried by you completely.
　　 What you don't wanna recall
　　 I remind myself of again and again.
　　
　　 When our shared past
　　 is only mourn by me alone,
　　 then what about the heart--
　　 lousy? Painful?
　　 Or dead?
　　
　　 I know all your habits, while
　　 you never want to think about
　　 my past or future.
　　
　　
　　 When I have
　　 uttered what I have to
　　 wallowed what I want to
　　 witnessed your happiness, then
　　 whether my happiness is coming?