The saddest thing is that we love and know each other but can't stay together. When that flower withers, what is buried? The truth you presented yourself with your own hands turned into ashes and drifted away in the wind before I could escape. The massacre 15 years ago, the person who loves me the most. 30 Years later, burying the person I love most with my own hands...
[PS: This is not plagiarism. I wrote a beginning a long time ago, but I abandoned it for three years and forgot my account number. Grab it here and write a QAQ.