Chris Munoz
Joined May 2023
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Peking University summer, only memory is wet. We are not plants, can not live on this land. Youth is drifting away in the wind near the window. The wind chimes of glass came crashing down with a last, short cry for help. Who's going to save us? The water bottle lay at the foot of the bed, covered with dust. Senior, no one as industrious as before, ran to the water room to fetch water. It is better to be thirsty than to drink cold water. The star girl's smile has been pale, like a withered nepenthes. The tape recorder was still full of the same annoying old song, the bad tape, almost dead.
By Chris Munoz11 months ago in Filthy