There is no second sight.
We grope towards our future blind.
It's kinder that way.
On the morning of her final day, she came to her death clear-eyed, brave, unknowing.
And when the snow melts, spring has come.
There is an end to war. One small flower… blessed, unique… will flower no more.
我们的眼睛看不到未来
我们盲目的探索自己的未来
这样也好些
最后一日的清晨 她目光晶亮地走向死亡 勇敢 无所防备
当白雪消融 春天来临
战事已止
一朵小花
备受祝福
如此独特
却已不再绽放……
“巴黎烟云”“如果你知道你的生命只能活到34岁,你会如何选择这一生?”
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