-
Kole 2022-10-20 06:03:17
Leyla's sister really understands, glanced at the books on her sister's desk (Virginia Woolf's book, and then "Fingerman's Love", "Orange is not the only fruit", etc.), and knew that Leyla fell in love with Tala . // The poster always made me mistakenly think that it was in the subway. Finally, after watching the movie, I realized that it was on a roadside bench. The green line was a poster design, not an iron pillar in the...
-
Rhea 2022-10-17 05:03:44
Why do I think this is not a British film but an Indian...
-
Zena 2022-10-16 16:02:53
Indians speak very bad English, all the people called Layla have long curly hair, tennis is a very sexy...
-
Olen 2022-10-14 15:35:35
It's so-so, but it's a relatively positive relationship. It's no longer the kind of intrigue in "Fingerman's Love", but the level of excitement is much...
-
Verlie 2022-10-13 00:16:06
1'08 love letter: "Every night, I emptied my soul, but when the morning light first appeared, everything returned to its old appearance. Softly, you turn into water droplets to penetrate into the night's caress. At dusk, my mind is us. The shadow of, painful and happy, without a trace of comfort. Love cannot be tolerated, and the originally full and full desires are torn apart. My days are full of scarlet, sorrow and longing. Gently grind the day and night of longing, try my best Look for the...
-
Bianka 2022-10-09 20:09:39
Middle Eastern English is fucking disgusting. The two heroines are sometimes beautiful and sometimes ugly. The maid is so...
-
Alisha 2022-10-07 17:18:28
The beautiful and inspirational beauty of the Indian style of the upper...
-
Leo 2022-10-01 07:43:03
When the sullen girl becomes bright and saucy, everything comes naturally. The plot and acting skills are very fake and...
-
Linwood 2022-09-29 23:13:30
Nima, the maid is the...
-
Angelita 2022-09-21 08:21:39
I can't think straight, one heart is hard to change, what a good...
I Can't Think Straight Comments
Extended Reading
-
Tala: [writing a letter to Leyla] Every night I empty my heart, but by morning it's full again. Slowly, droplets of you seep in through the night's soft caress. But don't I overflow with thoughts of us, an aching pressure that gives me no respite. Love cannot be contained; the neat packaging of desire splits asunder, spilling crimson through my days, long languishing days that are now bruised, tender with yearning, spent searching for a fingerprint, a scent, a breath you left behind.
-
Tala: Come here. Dance with me.
Leyla: I can't. I have absolutely no sense of rhythm.
