$PI The years have passed peacefully, and many years later, when I board this southbound train.

Although my obsession has faded, I still have to take this trip—
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 wanted to start over. Will I still be able to find you twenty years from now?
I don't know what shape time will carve your outline into.
But I am sure—
even across the entire span of years,
that child looking up at the falling parasol leaves,
must be you.