Leon, you were so decisive when you left me.
You said the warm feeling in my stomach was due to my stomach ailment being healed, not love.
The pothos you left for me, I planted in the park, and you have roots.
When I was twelve years old, I finally waited until you said you loved me, but you died.
When I was fifteen years old, I was mature enough and someone said you are still alive.
Leon: You gave me a taste of life. I want to be happy. Sleep on the bed and have your own roots.
So, my heart became this shape.
Conception: