I already resent April a little bit. But at this time every year, I can vaguely hear the bells of April, drifting over from the city where we lived together, carrying the smell of fresh flowers. It seems that when I lower my head, I can see the green pricking my palms. Then everything became noisy, and they asked me to tell them. They seemed to have grown out of the most secret corners of the world, reminding me of the most youthful colors, reminding me of the figure that had been waiting on the arch bridge in the storm, and reminding me that I had searched but found nothing.
Conception: