Sixteen, Like a Flower

Sixteen is the season of flowers, and seventeen is the rainy season.

Though they are clearly the two most beautiful seasons, I fell deeply into them and buried them.

When she met him, she was the one basking in glory. When he left, she was the one who felt regret.

The person I once desperately wanted to forget has now become my most precious memory.

If we had never met that summer at dusk,

would the ending not have been crimson red?

If there had been no beginning,

would there have been no end?