A banknote with your contact number written on it, an old book with my phone written on it.
If you find it one day, I will contact you again.
That's what I said, but it took seven years.
After so long, we're all getting married. And I suddenly thought of you. You also suddenly thought of me.
One black glove per person is the reason we met. Maybe fate was destined at that time.
How the seven years have passed. Have you ever wondered if I am confused? In the end, is it to believe in fate or to work hard on your own?
You only know my name, not even my last name. Just a little bit of clues, a little bit of searching, until the day before your wedding. You saw the wedding hall next to the cafe where we sat, and you finally accepted your fate, you said, that's the logo, so go back to the wedding rehearsal. After the rehearsal, your fiancée actually gave you the old book with my phone number on it.
Is it God's joke, or the arrangement of fate. You finally found where I live, and I went where you were. What you see is my friend, but you mistake it for me.
The plane was late, and you ended up canceling the wedding.
At the same time, I was on the plane and saw the bill with your phone number written on it.
I found your place, I know your wedding is in jeopardy.
I laughed and I cried.
It's snowing again. On the rink where we skated together, you lay there with that black glove and eyes closed.
I threw mine on you.
You open your eyes, as if in a dream, at the pair of gloves.
You stand up and see me.
After so many years, I am still like that, stubbornly believing in this fate, and you are the same, foolishly tortured by my beliefs.
My faith tells me that the moment we met, we were destined to meet again many years later.
Now that we have met, why should we separate? You ask.
Because we want to meet again, we have to temporarily separate.
However, the separation of these seven years has been a little long.
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