From your twenties to mine, that was the three years we met and fell in love.
From your twenty-five years old to my twenty-five years old, those were the three years we loved and hated each other.
When the mirror was broken, I glued it together. Then you smashed the mirror to pieces with your own hands. The broken mirror was covered with yellowing tape, and you could no longer piece together the appearance of love.
The beginning and the end of love
Female college junior holds gold brick, age difference is three years
Not a campus article
Just to explain the past and the future
There is sweetness and cruelty. Friendly reminder: those who want to read sweet stories can read the first half, those who want to see cruelty can read the second half, and those who are not afraid of being too sweet and sadistic can read the last one.
Essays, no archives, just write whatever comes to mind, don't rush me, I'm very free, I'll write when I have time, feel free to follow it, no traps
Summary: The broken mirror is rounded and broken again, and broken and rounded again. How it ends depends on your mood (it depends on my mood, I don't want to listen to advice)
The writing is mediocre and cannot stand up to scrutiny. Everyone is welcome to watch the fun.
Concept: The mutual pull between the broken mirror and the difficulty of making it reunited