After reading it, I can't help but wonder what plum chicken tastes like, whether it is helpless, sad, forced to accept, or trivial in life, but it will still appear. Fortunately, it is the quietness of the wife and children playing in the flowers in the afternoon, or the inability to meet each other's eyes. deep feeling.
It's not that I don't remember, it's that I hate myself for not being able to remember.
I can't help but wonder why only pain can make people touch life. If I can really choose, I believe he would rather not have the violin in his hand.
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