$PI The years drift by, and many years later, when I board this southbound train.

Although my obsession has faded, I still want to take this trip again—
Because I want to see what you looked like as a child.
Just like the parasol trees in Nanjing back then, standing in the same place every year waiting for us to return.
You said you want to start over. What will it be like twenty years from now?
I don't know how time will shape your silhouette.
But I am sure—
Even across the span of years,
That child looking up at the falling parasol leaves,
Must be you.