The beautiful scenery of the English countryside is intoxicating, with golden daffodils in the fields, hyacinths in the pastures, snow in the winter forest, autumn leaves falling on the ground, and butterflies in the room. . . . . .
There is also full of it, thick - love.
Instead of the explicit and direct plot that is common in today's movies, Keats and Fanny's kiss, clasped hands, reluctant eyes, and longing separated by a wall. . . . . . That's how all sweet romances are supposed to be, isn't it?
The men would sit around the fire and sing harmonies from the score, smiling. What a wonderful time.
In the afternoon, the wind blows the white gauze curtain, and the girl likes it, it's so nice.
Occasionally, the two of them imagined that we would live in the country, close to our mother. Outside the bedroom is a small orchard, and beyond is the distant mountains in the mist. The garden is full of all kinds of wildflowers, and it is still possible to go to bed for a nap when the sun rises three times. Twilight is approaching, and the louvered windows are full of moonlight. I hold you in my arms, kiss your chest, your arms, your waist. . . . . .
At this moment, I seem to melt away.
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