Dedicated to the bobo of the past and the youth of the past.
They say
Irises and spring are destined to turn their backs on each other
Whose youth is it?
After passing each other, like intersecting lines, the farther they go, the farther they go.
If I were destined to be a flowering tree
I just hope you can be with me during my flowering period
passed
Then I will taste you
Tumi that blooms for a whole season