在手机上保存，获得更好体验
This is the quiet after.
The space where the echo of laughter used to live.
This is the field after the battle, where only the ghosts are left to give.
A single, soaring thread of memory, carried on the wind.
And the violins sing of the love that was promised.
The cellos answer with the truth of what we lost.
The piano, like rain on a marble stone, traces the shape of your name.
This is the price of a beautiful, burning flame.
There will be no triumphant return.
No flag unfurled.
Just this… slow and graceful adjourn.
A final, gentle unfurling of a world.
A single, lingering note…
Holding the entire sky.
A silent goodbye.
