Ingmar had an innocent and innocent smile on her face, and when she was happy, she proudly and presumptuously learned to bark. All those days of repressed grief and pain have faded away.
Inspiring sexual cues, the value of death, the weight of emotion. In the growth process of Ingmar, it is a free-beating note that spreads its spiritual wings and flies magically.
He was such a lovely kid who genuinely cared about the people he met every week.
The train that was roaring and rumbling busy with white air. A landscape that penetrates the four seasons. Carry Ingmar to continue his story.
Maybe sometimes separation is really just a short farewell, but time wants to play a magic trick for us to change the living.
Replayed over and over in the film are the memories of Ingmar and his mother amusing each other at the beach. Full of sunny warm orange renders.
But it's so cruel that I can't go back. The mother must face death, and Ingmar must accept the torture of reality.
Therefore, in the film full of comedy, there is an indelible growth wound embedded in it.
Turns out we were smiling. Learn to taste the fruit of life brewing maturely in the constant falling and climbing.
In contrast, my entire childhood seemed to be filled with dazzling green and sour grassy scents.
Those fluffy dog's tail grass, clustered around and kissed my face. The breeze passed by, and large tracts of soft squatters bent down and saluted.
I'm a proud little commander in crotch pants.
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