You, I met you during the blooming and rainy season when I was in my second year of high school. We were still young and sentimental at the age of seventeen. We didn't have a beginning, but even our separation didn't end.
He, a fate, maybe destiny, gave me a sweet illusion. He has no love, only guilt. Is this the ending I should accept?
But,
thank you,
Let him love me one last time.