Secret love is like a weed growing in a corner, inconspicuous, yellow and withered. The four seasons reincarnate, and when the spring breeze blows, they grow wildly again. I wish my love could dissipate with the wind, so that I don't have to hold on to the only memories of you, and I don't have to always think of the four seasons when I met you, so that all subsequent seasons lose their color.
Intention: secret love