The thin purple Wisterias gently falls, and that person I love embraced it.
His eyes forlorn in the tender light, he stood under the Wisteria Trellis, his supple hands reaching towards the Wisterias dancing in the air, gently embracing them into his chest.
The petite, thin Wisteria petals weakly slid off the gaunt arms of his, and yet he kept embracing them.
He continued on, over and over again, and the thin, purple petals, akin to the lips of a maiden, fell gracefully by his feet.
The petals continued to escape from that person’s shoulders.
And that forlorn person vanished afterwards.
Evading anyone’s sights, I left a kiss on the Wisteria petals that were embraced by that person’s milky, effeminate fingertips.
It was during this chilly spring, amidst the purple Wisterias petals that continued to fall upon us.
This is our secret love, one we cannot say to anyone else.
What sank into the basement of the Wisteria vortex, rendering me breathless was a sweet, anguishing, heartbreaking yet endearing thing, the treasure most cherished by me.
It really is my most treasured.