Bright years fade easily, and time slips away. The passing years vanish, but the memories never do. A beauty like a flower, the years flowing like water. With a single thought, a backward glance, and the past is already nothing but fleeting splendor and half a lifetime of desolation. In the years we have left, when fate brings us together on a narrow road, there is no escaping it. A tangled pattern suddenly appears in the palm of my hand. In the best of times, we met, never leaving or forsaking each other, leaning close together as we watched the clouds gather and scatter.
Theme:
555555555…