My tim, trái tim was equal to a Nữ hoàng băng giá log. Then, there was a spark. One that turned into a flame, which rekindled my heart.
It grows, and grows. The ngọn lửa, chữa cháy gets warmer, and warmer, the thêm that spark appears. Smooth and velvety, was my
rekindled heart.
The log was greedy, and started to crack. The ngọn lửa, chữa cháy consumed it, and the log was starting to turn to ashes. I always knew that the tides would turn, but they broke the rekindled tim, trái tim in half.
The tim, trái tim tried to mend itself with needles and thread. It bled, and bled for the fire, so it would be warm. It was Mất tích in a world of despair, and started to crave...
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