If there were a sequel to the story, then Campanella’s father
Would surely break down crying after returning home, now all alone
If gentle affection is what he prizes above all else, then I hope someday he can notice it
His cat that loves his left leg, the curtains filtering in the morning light
As if knowing something once unknown, the children nod
As if comprehending something once incomprehensible, the grow-ups nod
They haven’t given up, rather, they’re gritting their teeth and bearing it
There are so many tiny scenes that we thought we had seen off for the sake of others
We haven’t just given up, have we? I ask the depths of my heart in secret
Wishing on a star, saying “Please, come true”… and letting out a breath if it doesn’t
If we come to think that way, it’s the same as not doing anything
If there were a sequel to the story, then I wonder what Giovanni would be able to say
Even if he went over to his friend’s house to play, I don’t think he’d be able to finish his milk
If gentle affection is what he prizes above all else, then I hope someday he can notice it
I hope someday Campanella’s father will be saved
There are so many tiny scenes that we thought we had seen off for our own sake
We haven’t just given up, have we? I ask the depths of my heart in secret
Making light of things, saying “It won’t come true”… and then not even trying to make it happen
If we come to think that way, isn’t that just like not being able to do anything?
As if saying something once unsayable, the children nod
As if forgiving something once unforgivable, the grow-ups nod
They haven’t given up, rather, they’re gritting their teeth and bearing it
There are so many tiny scenes that we thought we had seen off for the sake of our future
We haven’t just given up, have we? I ask the depths of my heart in secret
The dream we spoke of, saying, “I want it to come true”… it’ll become a star visible even in the morning
If we come to think that way, then rather than not doing anything, we’ll just keep moving forward