In May, the fragrance of roses fills the campus under the sun, and the sun shines warmly on passers-by. But I don't like the smell of flowers or the chirping of birds too much. There seems to be nothing in my heart, and my brain seems to be filled with something. It's a very strange feeling.
The red flower is innocent, but its beauty is guilty. It is picked because of its beauty, and it is picked up because of its beauty. I thought maybe it was just selfish of me to leave it as a specimen under the title page. It is definitely, no, not necessarily, maybe it is just for this most beautiful bloom, and I happened to encounter the broken beauty again, is it my luck, or its misfortune, it cannot be returned to nature. Red disappears, disappears in the sunshine, disappears in the boundless fragrance, disappears in the hand that loves beauty, to make it die in the name of love is indeed the most cruel. And I am just a passerby. I cannot enter the world there unless I can make a mark that will never disappear. Just because I also like other flowers. If they are picked again, I am afraid that no one will pity them anymore. But, maybe, the flower is proud and it does not need pity.
Concept: The meaning of love