Alone at home, it’s long past midnight. A dim light is on. You check your e-mail. Nothing – again.

You wonder where she is now. Is she maybe out? Still at work? Perhaps on her way home? Already sleeping? Has she thought about me at all? Does she even know I am waiting, dying for her to reply?

誰能夠將天上月亮電源關掉
它把你我沈默照得太明瞭
關於愛情我們瞭解的太少
愛了以後又不覺可靠

You wonder why she hasn’t replied to your e-mail yet. Can it be that she hasn’t read it yet? Not all of us are glued to the computer, after all. But it’s been a full day already. Perhaps she read it, but doesn’t know how to respond?

How will she react? Will she get what I am trying to say? Will she be touched? The uncertainty is .. such an agony.

你和我看著霓虹　穿過了愛情的街道
有種不真實味道

Moments of intense vulnerability set in when you open up yourself to someone you deeply care about, and you are unsure how the other person will respond. Waiting for a reply is an agony, and rarely does the response turn out to be as exhilarating as it was excruciating waiting for it.

我們一直忘了要搭一座橋
到對方心底瞧一瞧
體會彼此什麼才最需要
別再寂寞的擁抱

You wonder whether you /like/ being disappointed. Whether you are setting yourself up for failure, because it is always less painful disappointing yourself than have the other let you down. To briefly open up yourself, only to close and shutdown yourself as fast as possible, before the other can do so. And thereby excluding any real possibility to a true, shared connection.

誰能夠將電台情歌關掉
它將你我心事唱得太敏感
當兩顆心放在感情天秤上
想了太多又做得太少

Years later, you remember these moments in your life, and they are gone, a distant memory. You think back, and you almost pine for that kind of pain. To feel again, at any cost.

And then it hits you. Hard. And you realize they were never gone. Just waiting for that one moment where you drop your guard. And you hold back your tears, and wryly smile. The song still on repeat.

你和我仰望星空　走到了愛情的邊疆
有種不確定預感