There is a kind of love that is as fierce as fire.
When you are far away, you long for warmth; when you are close, you feel burned.
If you insist on having your own way, you are like a moth flying into a flame.
Nothing is left. ． ． ． ． ．
It was destined that innocent people would sacrifice for this love from the beginning.
This love is destined to be stained with innocent blood,
Even if you are destined to step on the corpses of countless people, you still have to love.
If life can be the same as when we first met, why will the sad autumn wind paint a fan and change the heart of an old friend easily, but the heart of an old friend can change easily.
This article is purely YY. If there is any discrepancy between the era, poems, and history,
Um, it's completely normal
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