It is the time when the moonlight and frost are heavy. Crickets sing the joy of life beside the bedside stove, ignoring the footsteps of cold autumn quietly approaching; Ogi flowers make a bleak sound in the cold wind of the dark night, but they don't know that they may fall into dust tomorrow; I am still alive, but I am no longer the child who hides behind the curtain and dreams.
If I could forget, would I be happy? Or will it be more sad? Is this fate?
But I don't want to forget. The petals of Qiluo dyed the wine a dull golden color. This cup of a dream-like flower... May it be able to evoke deep-seated tenderness? Or, what you can't get will always go with the wind, and what you can't forget is just a sigh?
But, at least in dreams, everything can start again.
Conception: