It was a flower-like memory. Pen % fun % Pavilion www.biquge.info

The happiness in memory is like the fragrant flowers of April,

Cherry blossom......

Is it an endless sea of flowers?

No matter how beautiful the scenery is, it can't be compared......

It was an intoxicating happy time.

It's like these scenes......

It's because of those glamorous times that it became fascinating,

And become intoxicating.

- But that happy time was also his and others'.

He and other women's.

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Perhaps, the beautiful scenery is in her memories......

It will also become silent,

and became barren.

It's such a barren land that can't be found,

It's a lost piece.

It's so lost and forgotten,

It is the body of the heart that does not help itself,

I can't help but want to get closer.

I can't help but want to give myself up.

Women's reserve.

Woman's concerns.

All the masks of the woman.

Those who are ashamed,

Throw it all away.

It's just that it's still a frustration......

Failed?

It was an incomprehensible frustration.

The sword was drawn.

The moment the sword was quickly drawn from his wounded right shoulder,

Blood spurted out.

A touch of bright red,

A bloody one.

That's the bright red track,

That's the trajectory of blood,

Trajectory rolling down in the air,

An arc in the air.

In the transparent air that breathes so close to each other,

In the air of his blood,

Her tears,

The breath of tears,

Foam of tears.

Everything is so involuntary.

All of this was her unwillingness.

-- I didn't want it.

How can she explain it?

Should she tell it?

Failed...... He really fell short.

But all of this,

It really wasn't her intention.

It's really not hers......

Not what she wanted.

It's really what she did.

But...... It wasn't her intention.

Not her intentions.

Not her heart.

That's not what she meant to be!

It's just, it didn't happen......

How should she explain all this?

Explain her anger?

Explain her resentment?

Explain her madness and madness?

Explain her jealousy?

Is she jealous?

How so?

"Smack!"

Sword, cold sword.

A handful of lost masters,

A sword that has lost the control of its master's mind,

It's like scrap metal.

Like all objects,

Like all objects that have lost their gravity,

It fell so heavily,

Landing heavily and straight.

Landing from the air,

Landing from the raw pain,

Landing from a distant place of confusion.

- She lost her sword

Far away,

free,

Lost,

Long and long,

Pain.

That kind of raw and painful rooting.

The woman's robe hangs down.

Crying.

The sleeves of the shirt have long been wet with crying.

- Only a lonely and crying woman remained......

Who will wipe her tears and comfort her?