It's like an encounter in a novel, in the most romantic moment when the sweet-scented osmanthus is fragrant, and the fine white petals flutter down.
It was like a carefully arranged stage, just for the first meeting of two people, so it was natural for them to think that they were favored by God, and in response to the flower language of osmanthus, they would always be with the beautiful woman.
They fell in love in early spring and April, when the irises by the lake bloomed into a sea of flowers, gorgeous and dazzling, overwhelming purple and blue, so beautiful.
After all, there were too many gaps between them, so they had no choice but to drift apart.
The flower language of iris, desperate love.