She had been knocking on the door for three years, and finally, at the time when the vines were crawling all over the courtyard wall, she waited for the boy who was clutching an orange and clumsy enough to confess his love until his ears turned red.
In the old yard full of flowers, they slowly planted fruit trees and peeled oranges, and mixed their previously unspoken thoughts into the daily chirping of cicadas.
It's just that when the wind blows through the alley, it occasionally makes people feel trance-like.
The cicada in the depth of spring is never out of reach. It is the tenderness hidden in the gaps between the petals. It is the gentle moonlight that happens to fall on your palm after all the flowering periods.
Intention: Love never dies