The door of the cafe I used to be locked tightly. Hiding a sigh, behind a cramped mask. I hate my face without expressions. You were my sunset, I wanna make it work. Many first days after the first day on my calendar. I’m left on the endless evening of March 1. That eternal vacation. Repeating morning. Our time has lost the weather. Ruined in winter.
TXT — We Lost The Summer (2020)












