Throughout life, every tree and flower blooms, and the snow falls.
Every flower withers in this life, and it is covered with snow at dusk.
If it weren't for those two ungraceful buns, would I be able to let you go? If there was no such feeling of loss under the white snow and cherry blossoms, would it be possible not to be so entangled?
Splashing ink dyes the passing years. You are the cinnabar mole in my heart and the white rose that I will never forget.