I’m looking, really looking
for a formula from which I can derive
the possibility of a sudden goodbye.
Gently, I laid down my pen.

I’ve found, really I’ve found
that elusive formula
that everyone dreams of.
I want to keep it a secret for myself.

Aah, it puts me in such agony
when I think about how they’d repeat themselves—
coincidences I never want to happen again,
as well as separations.

Coincidence meets coincidence—that’s how we have the present.
Right now, right now,
where am I? Where am I?
Coincidence meets coincidence—that’s how we have the present.
Right now, right now,
are you laughing? Are you laughing?

I’ve shown you that cursed formula
that everyone dreams of,
and you laughed.
I laughed at myself, too, for my cruel joke.

I’ve found the formula from which one can derive
the possibility of a sudden goodbye,
but I’ve thrown it away. I’ve balled it up and thrown it away.
Since there’s no meaning in such a goodbye.

Aah, it puts me in such agony
when I think about how they’d repeat themselves—
coincidences I never want to happen again,
as well as separations.

Coincidence meets coincidence—that’s how we have the present.
Right now, right now,
I’m still here. I’m still here.
Coincidence meets coincidence—that’s how we have the present.
Right now, right now,
I’m still crying. I’m still crying.

Farewell, bye-bye, see you tomorrow.
Which one is real? Can you tell?
My heart feels like it’s about to burst
even though I still can’t tell the real one yet. Aah…

Coincidence meets coincidence—that’s how I came into being.
Right now, right now,
where am I? Where am I?
Coincidence meets coincidence—that’s how you came into being.
Right now, right now,
are you angry? Are you crying?

“Goodbye,” and “good morning,”
and “I’m sorry,” and “thank you,”
and big fat drops of tears,
and your hand, and mine—
I’ll add them, subtract them, divide them, multiply them,
and then multiply them, divide them, subtract them, add them,
and again multiply them, then add them again,
then mix everything together.
And thus love—the unknown variable—was born.

3 AM. Finding the warmth inherent in words.
12 PM. Completely forgetting that warmth.
Every day, we go through the motion of living
while surrounded with entirely insincere words.
Perhaps the purpose of our being here is to forgive, and be forgiven.

The “people” who like you;
the “people” who hate you;
the “people” who don’t feel anything in particular—
all of that was me.
There’s a part of you unknown to us.
There’s also a part of me unknown to us.
And there’s a whole world unknown to us.
But all of that was me.

I’m giving up on this world myself
before it has a chance to give up on me.
You said you don’t really get it,
but you promised to forgive me for everything.
Perhaps the purpose of our being here is to forgive, and be forgiven.

The person I become once I’ve given up on myself;
the dinner I’m going to have tomorrow;
or even this spinning world—
nothing has any meaning anymore.
Had I known that…
Had I known that…
then all of this would be a joke,
and I’m sure there won’t even be a “tomorrow”!!

It must be so obvious.
The sky, oh, the sky is so, so dark.
Yet I’ve gone through life without realizing.
All this time, with you, with you…
And with me being “me”…