We spent many days in the pigsty.
Several times she would be taken away by men and dragged back with injuries all over her body.
I looked at the bruises on her body and didn't understand what they were.
"What's that on your leg?"
"It's a flower that bloomed," she smiled softly, but the newly healed wound on her face was torn open again because of this smile.
Until one time, I tripped over the chain.
When I woke up the next day, I had bruises on my legs.
It hurts a lot.
Then I realized that it was not a flower at all.
It was the source of her pain.
— —
"Dreaming a beautiful dream in a devastated world."
Will time forget everything?
At least my answer is, no.
— —
This is my first time writing about realistic themes.
Intention: Time will not forget everything
