The first world: She died that summer
All love has a price
swell, blacken, rot
Silence is the tip of the iceberg
I am the rancid orange juice and soup, I am the roses and lilies crawling with insect eggs, I am the North Star that clearly exists in the brightly lit city but no one can see or need it.
What is salvation
what is normal
Sick you, me and her
This is a story about a girl's heart slowly deteriorating from God's perspective.
Original article
The second world is undecided
The dividing line is suddenly fascinated by the story of this kind of black residual disease
So I want to write it out
The writing may not be very good, but I will write it carefully
Art comes from life, but life is often crueler than stories
Mission: Everyone should have a future