I am like a rotten apple. It is sweetest when it first rots. It gradually gets hotter and begins to deteriorate and then rot and stink.
My love also stinks, so I buried it in the soil, stamped it hard, dug it up and buried it again. Sometimes I water it, sometimes I expect it to die.
Intention: Everyday
Reader comments
Oops, why is it gone? Mamma Mia, Ning Ning, listen to her, listen to her, don't keep moving back.
Oops, why is it gone? Mamma Mia, Ning Ning, listen to her, listen to her, don't keep moving back.