In the season of flying flowers, weeping poplar trees appear in the alleys and east-wind courtyards. The heavy curtains are still the same as before, but people peeking behind the curtains are far away.
The orioles are singing at the bottom of the leaves, and the swallows are singing on the beams, and their sounds are accompanied by resentment. It's useless to miss each other, and I regret meeting each other in the first place.
The day I met you, I heard this poem. Now that I think about it, we are in the right mood of the poem. The relationship between you and me was just my wishful thinking from the beginning. This is not a pleasant dream, and I should wake up.