A room full of half-finished things and the weight of someone no longer there. The film refuses to explain itself, letting the soundtrack and a single flower do the heavy lifting while you sit with what that absence actually feels like. Director Naoko Yamada builds something that lives entirely in the space between guitar strings and silence, where one person's memories become another person's only way to say goodbye. The visuals are deliberately plain so the music can break you.

A messy bedroom is littered with empty beer cans and bottles and a glass of whisky, its edges crowded with art supplies and an electric guitar. A phone alarm rings, and the young woman who lives there drags herself out of bed. Years after the narrator's death, she opens her closet and finds herself swept into memories of the one who is gone. An anemone, the flower the narrator loved, ties the two of them together. A musical film about a woman, the narrator she lost, a childhood friend and their farewells.