The world is thin, people are evil, and flowers tend to fall when the rain comes at dusk.
At dawn, the wind has dried, and the traces of tears remain. I want to write down my thoughts, and I talk alone across the fence. Difficult, difficult, difficult!
People are different, today is not yesterday, and the sick soul is always like a rope on a swing.
The sound of the horn is cold, the night is dark, I am afraid of being asked, so I swallow my tears and pretend to be happy. Hide it, hide it, hide it!
What happened before Hong Ling turned into a ghost.
Conception:
有点可爱(?? . ??)