Lost Contact

Teenage love is always so fast and fierce, stubborn and devilish, like a moth rushing to the flame, flying into the flames regardless of everything. The lucky ones are in a mess, and the unlucky ones are buried in the sea of ​​fire. Maybe the moths are stupid, but we don't know whether the moths are happy or sad? When it hits the fire and is submerged, it must be warm. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.