In lengths of wave they spin around
just briefly touching the edge of my paper boat.
And these whirlpools—problems—creates a spiral,
sinking this paper boat to the bottom of the inner-water typhoon—
never to be found again, until the day,
where I thought hope was lost, you jumped into that darkness,
struggling with the current against you,
in reality it was just that futile—
yet you saved me in the end with
those arms I'm now embracing tightly,
shivering in the cold of autumn wind,
where withering flowers and leaves fly off
to a distant land we all know but can't see.