When all memories of the time that passes slowly are dyed to a sepia
color
The warmth of the hand that touched me who lost everything being able
to think the prelude for the sorrow and the suffered all to meet you
changed it， and terribly it wished that it live for the first time at
the will of me since that day when the one that had not been felt
quietly reached the mind through the skin and only one prayed meeting
changed me at that time of at the time of which it was warm.