It seems a bit sad to be predestined since childhood. Who made the circus a dream of my father? Alas, I like to wander in the world of paintings, like my own fairy tales, and like to be imaginative, not the circus that every child envy. But after mom fell ill, the world collapsed, and you couldn't quarrel with mom anymore. The rebellious you in the world in your paintings sneaked out and started to go your own way, quarreling with your father, engaging in non-mainstream affairs, and falling in love with delinquent teenagers. You are trapped in your magical world, in your wild imagination. Because of your inner punk, your magical world is about to collapse, so you cry: You can't do it alone in this world! You need your own parents! Even though they expect you to like the circus, they will always love you and won't hurt you. When I wake up, my mother is well, I am hugging my father, I am in love with the circus, I am in love with the clown, what a beautiful real world. Yes, the world in your paintings, your imagination, and your dreams, no matter how beautiful, can’t compare to the love your parents have for you in reality.
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