The last day of March.
The end of the fiscal year.

A turning point.

There's nothing special about it.
Another ordinary day passes by.

Every day, small events quietly accumulate.
Small joys,
A minor complaint,
A little regret...

Each one is like a spice,
Blended into the flow of time.

It was bitter,
It was sweet...

The taste is,
Matured over time,
Eventually something gentle,
It is slowly being brewed.

Tomorrow is April.
Let's quietly move on to the next season.