I spent my whole life searching for love and then burned the passion away in a brief flame. I dragged my remaining body, holding my heart that had been burnt to ashes, and spent the rest of my time looking for myself. A long time later, when I looked back at those ridiculous stubbornnesses, I realized that I had never really been exposed to love. That thing that should burn slowly like a candle, slowly release heat, and be slightly bright but enough to illuminate the light of life, was used up by me in such a tragic way with the short time of fireworks. Even in the end, except for the smoke after setting off, I can't even remember what the fireworks looked like when they were brilliant.