Once, twice, three times: by the time you were born, I was already old. Three times, four times, five times: by the time I was born, your teeth had begun to fall. Just what kind of cycle of rebirth could cleanse this bottomless sorrow? Could it be that ten thousand glances over the shoulder still aren't worth the time it takes a flower to bloom?
Dear Dad, Happy Dragon Boat Festival!
It started snowing as soon as we stepped out, which made us feel like we were in trouble! Come on! Throw flowers!
The color of sea and sky, nothingness is blue, The fish swims in the sea, looking up at the sky, The bird crosses the sky and disappears among the clouds, Life after life passed by each other without knowing each other, Dear dear~! Is this a deep tragedy of sadomasochism?