She has been stubbornly in love with iris, always feeling that she has forgotten very important people or things; then someone told her the flower language of iris - desperate love. She chuckled, despaired, and forgot; isn't it good to forget? Forgetting means new life.
Until he handed the glass staff into her hand with trembling hands; until the charming peach blossom eyes slowly closed tightly; until the corners of his slightly raised lips gradually became stiff, and her heart was split piece by piece in front of her eyes like a knife.
If possible, if possible, can everything go back to how it was before?
