The cherry blossoms are flying around, life is fleeting, and what the eyes see is the mirror-like experience of a distant era;
In the blue sky, where I look back, the stars have long since passed. Where are the people?
It is in the long river of history buried that it becomes a memory.
Who is she?
She is no one, she is just a tiny existence.
The beauty is old and her youth is gone. Her pale eyes look up at the dancing pink cherry blossoms. Who is the shadow under the tree?
Can't see clearly, can't see clearly.
This is just a cliché short story. The story itself is YY, trivial, vulgar, so you can ignore it if you don't like it.
As for the name. . I didn't know what it should be called. I thought it was quite confusing, so I chose the random word. .
Conception: