The rain was falling rapidly outside the window, and I thought, it's time to do something to save me from being overhauled.

Life abroad is about finding safety in the stranger, and those blond foreigners feel that having a relationship with me can be a tricky thing. I didn't want to make any more trouble for myself, so I was alone.

But not in my heart.

Every morning when I walk by the river, it is you who fly to my shoulder to eat. You grunt gutturally, and your little head spins back and forth. I grabbed a handful of food from my pocket, and without bringing it to your mouth, your mischievous gray wings puffed up and blew them all into the sky, and I was obsessed to see you busy in the air, jumping up and down, but not once managed to eat it all in your mouth before you hit the ground. I'm going to grab a little less and let you try to accomplish the impossible.

When you go up to the bridge, the saxophone blowing on the opposite side is you. I know you're not as melodious as it, but I still think of it as you. The people crossing the bridge all shrank and I could see that the temperature on the water was all condensed in the air, but the warmth and coldness wrapped around your woven coat were not known. You fought against the cold wind, and with me, you won every time.

Later, you danced with me again, I held you, you strangled me, I couldn't breathe, you let go of me, I held you again. Now you can do anything.

I also want to thank you for taking the trouble to sit across from me and watch me eat, turn on boring talk show channels and lie on the couch together in a daze, or show up whenever I need to. Except in dreams.

"It's better not to want to" Chapter 1 (I) is in the middle of the hand, please wait a moment,

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