What exactly is the state of loving the original state? Or sometimes, it is like a big tree, winding and intertwined, entwining the heart of every lover. Is it this seemingly deep-rooted thing that makes people neglect to care for it? Is it because time has given me a watchful eye, or is it the distance that makes people feel resentful, or is it the ignorance of youth that ruins the love? The memory always remains in the mottled fragments, never stationed, never far away, just like this all day long. What makes waiting pointless? Is it wrong love or wrong love?
Concept: Love is the yearning at the top of the heart