Young love is always pure and beautiful, but it is as thin as a cicada's wings. The hidden years, like the youth looking back, seem to have become insignificant. It is a time that can only be had in dreams, just like the warmth of weaving and dyeing in summer.
How many journeys in life can you take with the person you like and take a moving train to see the scenery? The endless sight you pass by fills the humid weather, as if the air becomes thinner and thicker with you.
What can I hide? It's just a gentle word from you that can destroy my whole world.
I want to watch a fireworks bloom with you, like a firefly falling into the sky, and the cigarette cigarettes burning off cannot embellish the light at the end.
Can you still see yourself when you were fifteen years old, looking for someone's trust alone, and being confused even if you meet again?
Sweet and sour plum wine is sweet for one person's heart, but it is really sweet for another person's heart.
At least I can still remember the mist that filled the air in that winter, and it was a search that couldn't be turned back.
There is BG and there is BL.
I wish to sing black and white with you as the years go by.
The love between three people is an endless circle.
The love between two people is a scene to be watched alone.
A person's love is an endless road in the distance.
The second chapter:
Chrollo's essay:
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