A branch, broken and split, dangling year after year, clicking its song to the wind, with neither leaves nor bark, bear, wan, worn out by a long life and a long death. Its song echoes, cracking and persistent. Stubbornly, it resounds with secret anguish for yet another summer, yet another winter.
用戶評論
痲酔丶
2025-05-11 04:47
咖啡館的Andrew
2025-05-11 03:03
愛影客
2025-05-11 08:44
可樂~
2025-05-11 03:09
煙西門
2025-05-11 11:34