I'm not sad anymore, but my heart is filled with longing for him.
Who is whose little prince, who is whose rose. Who will wait for him at the next intersection to comfort the loneliness in each other's lives.
We are emotional mysophobics. The wildness that crazily absorbs sincerity and warmth in the veins has never been extinguished.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
