A single music video that moves like a poem written in real time. The song itself is the story, no dialogue, no plot mechanics, just the weight of a specific moment caught between seasons. Yuka Imai's direction trusts you to feel what the music is already saying. Most people miss this one entirely. Don't.
A single mother and her young son navigate the quiet moments of everyday life as spring arrives. Their days unfold in small, tender scenes: preparing meals together, walking through the neighborhood, sharing silences that speak volumes. The boy moves through the world with the kind of wonder only children possess, while his mother carries the weight of raising him alone with quiet grace. As cherry blossoms bloom outside their window, the gap between them feels both intimate and vast. There's an unspoken longing in how they orbit each other, how she watches him grow, how he reaches for connection she struggles to fully give. The animation captures these fragile moments in soft colors and gentle movements, letting the music carry what words cannot. What emerges is a meditation on motherhood, loss, and the bittersweet reality of loving someone while feeling fundamentally distant from them. It's a short film that lingers, asking whether presence and love are ever quite enough to bridge the spaces between two people sharing the same home.