When did my life begin to become corrupt? A flower is stepped on in the mud and stomped a few times. The shape of the flower cannot be seen at all. It just sinks into the soil and can no longer look like it was before. When people see the broken flower again, they will laugh and disdain, but who cares about the original appearance of the flower? Who would think about why flowers become like this?
There is a prototype
Purpose: I wish there would be no more bullying in the world