How can the falling dust and spilled ink keep from weeping?
Ink dyes the splendor, with no hope in sight.
A love that spans two lifetimes is hard to offer as a sacrifice.
Where can you and I turn, remembering each other?
Only when the ink runs dry can the city of sorrow begin.
He, clad in black, was as cold and silent as the night.
She, in a blue dress, seemed like an immortal spirit.
She said she loved him, gave him everything, and ended up with a broken heart.
He said he loved her, too, yet cast her aside without hesitation, leaving her with a lifetime of sorrow.
In the next life, will he be able to win her heart?
In the next life, will she reject his wishes?
If this false love is like a dream, can that dusty old book and cup of fragrant tea preserve her last memories?
Like (☆_☆)
Come and see you, hehe, not bad, keep up the good work! Mo Mo Thi. .
Urge for updates, Urge for updates,,,,,,,
It's my first time writing a book, and it feels a bit like it. I must give it a thumbs up!!!