I was seventeen years old, holding hands under the parasol tree. You didn't speak, and I was just silent. The sound of my heartbeat broke my eardrums. I thought that moment would last forever.
At the age of twenty-seven, the bright sun traces the profile of your face, and the cry penetrates your bone marrow. I ask if I can go back to the past.
Actually I don't hate the feeling of waiting. Looking back, I realized that we had lost so much in wasted time.
It's just that this ten-year rainy season should stop.
You are still you and I am no longer me.
Concept: Redemption and loss, the growth of a girl