In the hustle and bustle of August, we, parched,
Forget about the heat and run,
Unstoppable by anyone.
With innocent profiles,
Sweat trickling down our necks,
Our hair sticking to us, and the cicadas’ cries,
Annoying yet endearing,
We’re so young,
We seem to drown in the summer sky,
Too green, but still, isn’t it nice to be childish?
Even if the world shrinks, and our
Place to belong disappears,
I want to stick closer to you,
To be even closer.
It might be exaggerated, but as we laugh,
Our faces turn red, maybe because of the sun.
It’s okay to keep it a secret.
In the illusion of August, we, parched,
Dive into the dry sky,
Taking you with me to an unfamiliar town.
I wonder if we can go even further,
Pedaling aimlessly,
Seemingly melting in the heat of the asphalt.
The bicycle seat is getting hot,
“Will I get burned?”
You look worriedly at your bottom as you stand and pedal,
Then look at me and burst out laughing.
Shall we walk a little?
Even the trivial conversations,
As long as it’s the two of us, it’s good.
I don’t want to miss a single one,
I want to watch the present.
If we can quietly share our lives,
Neither the coming of tomorrow nor growing old
Will be frightening.
I dreamed
Of that day in the scorching summer
When I was with you
We didn’t have a clue
About the future,
But we knew that we’d
Always be close like this.
Even if it’s exaggerated, as we laugh,
Our linked palms grow cold.
Until that moment.