I heard from the older generation that if you hang wind chimes on the trees, the departed people will return looking for their voices.
Maybe our meeting was a tragedy
I can't tell if someone loves me
I don't have the ability to love either
I am unable to break away from the shackles of my original family
His appearance made me give birth to new flesh and blood
He said "I'll be back"
He broke his promise
There is only one sentence left: "grow up well"
It's spring again
The sun shines on me through the glass
I hold him
Blood blossoms into gorgeous flowers on the white sheets
The wind chimes on the peach trees are still ringing
It would be better if we never met
"I won't look forward to a spring without flowers blooming."
Intention: The sound of wind chimes brings the dead back home