I once believed in an angel very religiously, but then I found out that the person who made me believe in an angel never believed in himself. From there, things start to get boring.
I no longer believe in angels. Andrea, the short man, our representative: The girl across the table told me she was an angel, and I said she was joking, or prove it to me. Then she miraculously made the ashtray rise out of nowhere, restoring the almost burnt cigarette butt to its original shape. The first thought that popped into my head was, NND, how did the trick work? !
Angel's redemption. Lead us to stop deceiving, lead us to forget despair, lead us to believe in love. I, love myself. Angel completed the task.
It's hard to tell whether Andrea loves Angela or an angel, but at the end of the story it's clear that among lovers and angels, it's definitely not an angel we need.
Black and white, angels, love, people. I almost thought I was talking about Under the Berlin Sky. sigh~
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