Like a glass of cold water. Only that generation can understand the pain, panic and sentimentality of a period of history.
The breeze leaking out from the cracks of the times is as clear as the blood flowing in the veins, settling in the bumps of fate.
The story itself is not at fault; only the people in the story are at fault.
Many years later she recalled the beginning of the story. If there were no bunch of iris, there would be no old and hoarse sound of the piano, and there would be no sunshine scattered on the leaf tips. When everything just stays like. Would the story have been different.
That beam of light passed through decades of heavy time and fell between his eyebrows. He woke up from his dream.
In the dream, there was a woman in white who was gradually walking away, just like the woman he fell in love with at the beginning. She said. When you fall in love with someone. At that time, you have to tell her that you love her.