RubyHeart

Tomorrow's me is still waiting, trembling to welcome a dense, selfish master. No matter whether years pass and cars can fly in the sky, even if years pass and machines can talk, whatever you want to say, before you call it convenient, please heal my wounded heart. If a missile flies in that sort of sky, and I ask for happiness from such a thing, I have to become a kind person, I wonder if I can affirm myself...