That year, the lilacs bloomed on a warm summer morning. Delicate flowers, bathed in the warm morning sun; smiling brightly, like your beautiful face. On that lingering summer morning, sitting at the stone table under the flower branches, looking at the purple flowers, thinking of you with a bright smile in the distance. Memories, the beauty of remembering in dreams; the tenderness that remains in the notches of the years, quietly accompanies the time when thinking about you.
That year, the lilacs bloomed, and when the flowers bloomed, you were beside me. Purple flowers, gently swaying against the wind, seem to be your gentle gaze, gently brushing away the shallow sorrow in my heart. That year, hibiscus blossomed, strolling through the quiet alleys, accompanied by the echo of footsteps. The sky, the sudden rain, drenched my hair, as if to wash away the warmth that remained in my memory.
The lilac branches that spread across the flower wall helplessly let the wind and rain beat. Flowers fell to the shallow ground. As if it were the tenderness of my thoughts, with the wind and the rain, it drifted into the depths of the silent alley. It also remains forever, in the memories of the good old days.
That year, the lilac blossoms were in the lament of the years of passing water. In that mist, the morning that will disappear. Stroll along the flowing stone bridge and see the splendor of the rising sun. See, you who also love to walk in the early morning are walking on the hibiscus-filled path. The idyllic gaze that looked at each other and smiled warmed the sorrow of my waiting.
That year, the lilacs bloomed, when they woke up from an afternoon nap. A falling flower, which happens to fall on an open page; clinging to the buds, as if you were angry with your lips. As if it were the flower, it was also recalling the sweet warmth of the past; the shallow closed buds of the flower seemed to cherish the beauty of the memory deeply, and the falling flowers were still caring for the tenderness of the years.
The lilac blossoms are the beauty of the encounter in gratitude. Which flower falls, is it nostalgia for the sorrow that is remembered in the heart? A breeze blew through, and the flowers that fell with the wind snuggled together; the flowers that fell seemed to be the heartache of the thoughts; and they stayed in the memories of the good times of the past.
That year, the lilacs bloomed, and they were brilliant from the car window. Before you could gaze closely at the delicate faces of the flowers, the passing train flashed through the beautiful flowers. The brilliant flowers remained in my mind like this, and also left the sentimentality of the good times fleeting. If so, you can keep the beauty of the past. Willing to wander freely, the lilac bushes, gently embracing you, quietly experiencing the tenderness of the depths of the soul.
That year, the lilacs bloomed on a haunting evening. The sunset is reflected, and the delicate style of the flowers is like that warm smile, staring at the tenderness of the faltering years. The flower buds that danced with the wind swayed gently, as if whispering something? Or is it pouring out, the heart that can't forget, the touch of the good old days.
That year, the lilacs bloomed, when I was writing good memories. The light purple flowers were as gorgeous as countless dreams in dreams. In all the warm memories, there is the appearance of your shallow smile, and the romantic tenderness that is cherished in your heart. All thoughts remained; that year, when the lilacs were in bloom...
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