Just like I’m holding scorching coals, wanting to use them to warm myself,
only to realize the other person is merely admiring the flames through a pane of glass.
The fire is real, but the warmth can never reach her.
It’s like standing outside a shop window, full of joy, staring at the lights inside.
You think that if you push the door open, you’ll be able to have that warmth—
but those lights are meant to be displayed for passersby.
They don’t belong to people who simply pass by.
It’s like casting an entire heart’s worth of sincerity onto the surface of a lake,
hoping to stir up ripples that echo both ways.
But the lake is already accustomed to receiving countless people’s throws.
It will only gently ripple; it won’t rise to the surface for any single stone.
I hold out the whole fruit, hoping for an exchange of feelings both ways,
but she only accepts it out of politeness—without any intention of tasting it.
only to realize the other person is merely admiring the flames through a pane of glass.
The fire is real, but the warmth can never reach her.
It’s like standing outside a shop window, full of joy, staring at the lights inside.
You think that if you push the door open, you’ll be able to have that warmth—
but those lights are meant to be displayed for passersby.
They don’t belong to people who simply pass by.
It’s like casting an entire heart’s worth of sincerity onto the surface of a lake,
hoping to stir up ripples that echo both ways.
But the lake is already accustomed to receiving countless people’s throws.
It will only gently ripple; it won’t rise to the surface for any single stone.
I hold out the whole fruit, hoping for an exchange of feelings both ways,
but she only accepts it out of politeness—without any intention of tasting it.