"How high is that, I wonder?"
you were saying
when we were young, under the moon.
Under the twinkling wax and wane, following its path, we played.

A hard rain fell for a half an instant.
The hydrangea flowers and the amber moon dance on the shore
while each admire the other.

Every time your biting words touch me, they disappear.*
Though I try not to drop even one,
the moon which I scooped and held in the palm of my hand,
had vanished.

Goodbye
a pair of butterflies, which stopped
on my fingertips, illuminated by my pale face.**
The snow that sparklingly shone
felt like you,
and my breath stopped...

Spider's silk is tangled around my fingers.
I... I don't have a face.

Rising and fading,
soap bubbles.
I didn't want them to break, so
I was careful,
even though I was so careful...

I am here!
Uh, god?
Riding on the ripples on the surface of the lake,
though I am shaking..

The butterfly that was beautifully decorated,
since when did it become a glass bead?
And I, who have nothing
as for the butterfly's flying away,
it was
because you were always, always here...

Goodbye
People who say nothing,
that's how it always is, isn't it?
As for the moon that sparklingly shone...
Oh! It dissolved into a snow-colored butterfly
and became tears.