I am sad and sad, the snow is flying, and the bright moon is bright, and my eyebrows are ink and water.
If you are safe, I will be safe.
A smile.
A fleeting stroke.
When you recited that famous line that was praised by thousands of people, I laughed.
The heavy snow comes as expected and it blooms for you.
But you...
But it hasn't come yet.
When you lead little me to caress you in every possible way, I laugh.
The ink is scattered one after another, flying for you.
But you...
But it didn't come.
Snow and ink blend together.