The road ahead is long, with flowers in spring and cicadas in summer, leaves in autumn and snow in winter. I love every year. I bury my memories in the annual rings but never read them. There is one thing that I dare not forget, year after year, even if the winter snow melts into the spring flowers and the summer cicada disappears into the autumn leaves.
"Let's talk like we did when we first met."
Concept: Secret love is a personal matter
