The wounds polished on the palms of your hands are the eternal vows you left to me.
My sleepiness and fatigue were all cut off along with my long hair.
And when your lies were ruthlessly torn apart, the pain in your chest has already overwhelmed all the entanglements.
I just took a wrong step, but I have already lost the right to defend myself.
So, I can only do it.
Hiding alone in the thorny April afternoon, enjoying alone the kindness you once gave me.
My dear, if you could choose for me.
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