Do you understand that brooch?
Free or not, I think of all the memories, the most beautiful ones worth making up are always the moments before fermentation. It is so beautiful that it is defiled to touch it.
Love and desire are twinned, lost and broken. I don't know, he is still not him, but he has always been like him, and he is the imaginary him, trapped by reality, trapped by morality, and eager to become them. He is me, you are him.
We are all free or not.
Behind the gorgeousness, it is said to be degenerate. Will there be freedom behind the depravity? Behind the freedom, there must be youth. I wanted to spend ten times like that, but once was a tough biscuit soaked in milk, tasteless and brittle.
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