At the turning point of eighteen, love is like quicksand, slipping away from your fingers.
Those who are painful, confused, hesitant, sad... Are all drifting away from us.
On this shore, the frivolous love, hate, and sorrow of young boys and girls in their blooming season fade sadly.
Then, suddenly I looked up and saw gorgeous summer flowers and quiet autumn leaves on the other side.
So we all know that the flowering season before the age of eighteen has quietly left.
And in the following years, flowers will fly and flowers will wither, and flowers will fall and flowers will bloom. What greets us must be a splendid new reincarnation...