After all, time is like water, flowing away. Even if the river is still there, you can never find the original drop.
The parking lot full of dandelions is the last hidden wound in my heart.
I see old sunlight in the frame.
The flowing light easily throws people away, turning cherries red and bananas green.
Sometimes I think of that day when I was young, the sky was filled with fluffy dandelions, and together with the sunshine, it filled the entire parking lot.
So, the flower language of dandelion is...
Now, from now on, can the starry sky be as beautiful as before every year?