I think about him constantly.
I miss his clothes, his appearance, and everything related to him in my memory.
I don't know if this is love.
But day after day, those blurry images were about to be washed away by time, and I felt uneasy.
Spring equinox.
Summer solstice.
White dew.
Frost.
The prosperity of the city seems to be diminishing little by little, becoming more and more desolate.
I was suddenly very scared, afraid that one day I would forget him.
And he didn't have time to say that he loved me.