The youth born in the 1990s is like a blood-like rose. Bleeding for love or bleeding for not loving. The former is willing, while the latter is stubborn and bruises the head. The men and women living on campus, love, family, friendship, love, young and young, I gradually realized that although love hurts and bleeds, but that touch of blood is as delicate and beautiful as a rose.
As I watched the blood drip down, I was fearless of youth, impulsive, and desperate for love. . .
Rose blood, the person I love, I am willing to bleed for him, the love, hate and pain in my heart, sweet. . .