The flowers are blooming on the street, the breeze is blowing, and I miss you all over the place. You look back, looking forward to the brilliance, touching a ripple. The glass remains clear.
The years leave no trace, leaving only chaotic thoughts. I searched hard, but there was no trace of Liao. The glass is bone-chillingly cool.
Pingting's elegance is finally defeated by the turmoil of the world. Although it is colorful, it is no longer as clear as before.
There is a touch of sadness and silence, just saying that the flowers are blooming in time, and the beloved will never return.