Whose Love? Whose Love?

If you don't know the origin of love, once you are deeply in love, the living can die and the dead can live. Every morning, the story is repeated. Every night, the scars are reopened. Whose beauty is blooming in the Mood for Love... Whose desperate love spreads in infinite loneliness... The east wind blows through the curtain, a curtain of drizzle and thin spring clouds. Try to see the apricot blossoms. The wet clouds are delicate and cold at dusk. People are sentimental, spring is gone because of ruthlessness, I ask the flowers for wine and the flowers are silent, I dream outside the flowers, and the clouds in my dreams Intention: