I want to say that every story is a grand memory.
I want to say that every memory is a fire that has not been burned out.
Just like our youth, every period is a flourishing event.
Just like our lives, every period is a brilliant fireworks show.
The fates of ten teenagers were inadvertently involved.
The fireworks that year were so gorgeous.
Everyone is stained with a smile.
What makes everything cease to exist.
Is it friendship that turns into love?
Is it the most naked desire between people?
Is it money that is always the most unclear?
Still. . . My love puts too much burden on you after all.
Our love will never come back.
One person eats, one person watches DV, and one person sleeps.
Why am I so unaccustomed to being without you.
My dear, will you come back?
Come back to me.
Let me Love You.
Life has no end, every story is just a comma.
To bring an end to my life, I only give you this right.
My sweetheart. . . .
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