When you thank me,
It somehow seems painful
And that enduring magic that comes after saying goodbye
Leaves a faint taste of the bittersweet.
This must be the flavour of life.
The space where we are neither friends nor lovers
Makes me feel like an unripe fruit dreaming to be harvested.
The way we are is aggravating, baby,
As we never seem to make any progress.
This is why thanking me
Seems to somewhat hurt
And yet the magic that comes after we say goodbye
Leaves traces of the bittersweet.
That is the flavour of life.
With only sugar-coated words and phrases,
Talking seems to have lost its taste.
I just don’t find such things intriguing.
Just because everything is falling apart,
Doesn’t make our lives any more dispensable.
Asking me “What’s the matter?” all of a sudden
Can only elicit the response, “Nothing, nothing at all.”
Yet, when the smile fades away after we have parted,
I don’t seem myself.
Wanting to believe and hoping for hope
Seems to somehow amplify the pain.
“I really like you” is better than “I love you”,
That’s more like you, isn’t it?
Such is the flavour of life.
Suddenly remembering the smell of the person you had almost put behind
Invites a joy that is more innocent than the white of fresh snow.
Devotion means more than diamonds.
I want a warm future in my hands
And in the limited time that is my life, I hope to share it with you.
Still, when you thank me,
It seems somewhat painful
And the magic that comes after we say goodbye
Leaves traces of the bittersweet.
This is the flavour of life.
