When we first met, she smiled in the bush and winked at me.
After a lifetime of searching, I never felt this way again.
Hot, brilliant, and pure, like an iris about to fly.
That sea of flowers contains my first beauty, my last farewell, and my lover who was too late to save me.
Is this a conspiracy, or a pretense of goodwill?
Is it the eternal love or the endless entanglement?
At the end of time, I realized that there were too few things I wanted to hold on to.
That year, loneliness blossomed. That year, the brilliant flowers faded.