Ah, how can I think so? I'm thinking about something. Since he died, I swear I won't think about men any more. Dreams like flowers are shocked by my bold ideas. Some of them are blushing and embarrassed to face themselves.

"Like flowers, you're running away, you've been running away, don't you dare to face your heart?" I know you like me too, don't you?

"What? I like you! Don't kid me, I hate you, that's nausea! " Dreams are like rude curses.

"Hate comes from love, because you love me, so you hate me, right?" Maniacal killing is the dream of changing the way of pasting on the body...