Love Again, or Have Your White Room

How much memory are you willing to use? Change the understanding of the moment White swallows everything. She stood in front of me at the age of sixteen, with the scent of high school shampoo in her hair. The roar of the railroad tracks faded away, leaving only this pure white room and the faded cherry red hair rope on her wrist. "Huansuke-kun, have you really loved me?" This time, I understood the snow in the question. The breakfasts frozen in silence and the unsaid good mornings gathered dust in the entrance hall. Every time I take a step forward, she fades a little bit. It turns out that forgetting is our last conversation. Before the white completely covers her, I must use the remaining warmth to write an answer. In the room, snow began to fall.