Childhood sweetheart × two-way secret love × BE
But there is no if in reality. All possibilities ended on that blood-red autumn afternoon when I was seventeen. All that is left are two cold tombstones, a short life with smoggy blue hair, and three love songs that no one will ever sing again.
Gardenias bloom year after year, white and fragrant, as if nothing has changed, and as if everything is different. The fragrance of flowers is still there, but it can no longer blow into the summer of waiting for the young man to love.
Intention: I will never be able to enter the summer of waiting for the boy who loves me again
