There are vaguely similar scenes in the memory, vague and lingering.
I reached out and opened the drawer, but it was still empty. The rings and photos were missing. I couldn't even hear that name, he disappeared completely and decisively.
Love is the maggot that corrupts the soul.
Those charming smiles seemed more and more unfamiliar the more he looked at them. They were clearly different from the bright black eyes, pointed chin, proud expression, and elegant movements that pushed him away from danger back then.
The moans beneath him were unrestrained or coquettish, and somehow they reminded him of his clenched lips and forbearing expression. From this angle, he could see the bulging bones of his slender back. His skin was delicate, smooth, pure and free of impurities, with a thin layer of crystal sweat seeping through it.
In the past, it was like cream with a rich fragrance and warm color, which always fermented into bitterness when it melted in the mouth.
The scene was finally clear. It was him who lowered his eyes and acknowledged the fact that they were related by blood. It was him who regarded killing his biological parents as a task and carried it out indifferently. It was him who followed others without hesitation.
Even the shape of his lips when he said the name "Penn" was unbearable.
Resentment and jealousy were like black whirlpools that he could not struggle with, bringing with them the dark mist of chaos, dragging him into the hell burning with eternal karma. There is no future, no future, there is still darkness at the end of darkness, and there is only haze behind the haze.
Hate is the maggot that corrodes the soul.
"You're still thinking about him, aren't you?"
... Whatever he wants to think about, he doesn't want to think about it.
Conception: