Solitude gave a sense of life and there was fear to stand up again even in the arms of love and care. For the one that meant everything had not a quite time to spare here, there is just the answer from the broken heart; solitude.
Who will stand up again? A broken heart is not my hope of this life. With this sour withering wind, my leaves have stopped living up to the spring. The sense is a doubt of hate and anger.
Now there isn’t fear to the burst of an outstanding earth quake nor is there fear to the end of this life. Meanings have faded. The keen love and excitement pounding out of the lively heart is no longer available for this life as the only heart is broken now.
It is so the humble fortitude of this lame heart, please do not find me even in the next life…
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