Wheat cooked

The hot sun was exactly the season of wheat harvest. I imagined the rumbling sound of machines in the wheat fields in my hometown, and the villagers who couldn’t close their mouths with laughter on the ground. I couldn’t help feeling gratified. I still remember that when I was a child, a new girl in

Heaven whether wine

I noticed that your pale and stiff hands and the fingers you used to be familiar with had been stretched calmly. The yellow color smoked by smoke in your fingers left a touch of warmth in the world. You said, you tried to quit for many times, but it didn’t work. It was empty, like