Everyone in the world wants love.
Or earth-shattering. Or passionate. Or as plain as water.
She always looks at love from across the bank. She longs for warmth. She remained calm.
She has a habit of remembering the past at night. But never shed tears.
Because she cares.
Forced to grow up under the tricks of fate.
Moths fly into the flame. Just for the dazzling firelight and warmth.
The bole of life, the sunshine of life.