When I was young, I read under the pear blossoms, the white clouds gathered and dispersed, and the clear silk was graceful.
When I closed the book, my eyes were filled with fog. When I looked up, the sun was beautiful.
I feel like some ruins are loosening in my heart.
It seemed like something was about to break ground.
The story and romance I fell in love with.
In those years, it solidified into the most disgusting warmth.
Write about a little boy and a little girl.
The color of growth.
I love warm, fuzzy stories.