"In the remaining midsummer, the chirping of cicadas faded into an unfinished poem, and the sound of the wind turning the leaves seemed to remind us that some warmth is destined to remain in the folds of memory."
"For the rest of midsummer, we stand at the boundary of light and shadow, watching how the sunlight changes from blazing to gentle, like a silent dialogue about blooming and withering."
Intention: I am the only one you are destined to have