Memory of Wind

Now, do you remember, I was eight years old when we first met. The cherry blossoms in Sakuraji Temple were in bloom that day. But you said, I was twelve years old when we first met. The memory of you is like a gust of wind. After the wind passes, except for the fallen flowers all over the ground, I can no longer remember your face. I always feel that when I am eighteen years old, I can still see you one last time. In the end, it was my memory that was confused, or you didn't keep your promise, because the diary clearly wrote down the scene of meeting you when I was eighteen years old, and it's still vivid in my mind. Conception: