Past for many,
Passes them by,
Like a river,
Every water they touch,
Is different at different times,
They don\'t dwell on what has passed.
Or, like a fast-moving conveyance,
They don\'t look back,
Faces facing forward,
Eager to know what is ahead.
While my past comes back to me,
Like the ripples of the ocean,
Even when I try to push them away,
Like the rocks on the shore,
Leaving froths around.
So, I willingly walk forward,
And fall into the sea,
Letting myself get carried away by the waves.
Always facing backward,
In the fast-moving life,
Feels good to travel in the opposite direction,
Confusing left and right, forward and reverse,
Like life itself.