Library

It's nothing special, it's just a repetitive cycle.

The content of The Little Overlord is gone here. The content he wrote down was fragmentary. He wrote a few sentences in a day, or a sentence in a few months. Each sentence was like a thorn in my heart, and each page seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. Reading has become an extremely difficult thing. The embarrassing and sad feelings spread into every pore of me, making me cold, making me hot, and making me unable to find my whereabouts. I closed the book, stared blankly at its cover and started smoking. It was the bully who taught me how to smoke. It was the bully who made me want to stop smoking. It was the bully who made me hurt my lungs and make me sad. I don't feel sleepy after smoking too much, but I am also in a daze, thinking about things as if they are an endless dream. In the dream, you, me and she are running around in confusion looking for a way out, going around in circles but not too far away from the starting point.