Personality

Provence, France, Sogno World Photography Exhibition.He shuttled among the colorful photos. 1999, the year Sogno was inspired, was the year Girasole was by his side. Sogno is dead, Girasole is still in his body.

When Girasole asked him one last time, Kazuya, to take me back to Turin, Italy.Four years after Sogno's death, he chooses the place where they first met to mark the end of their love.From now on, there will be no such boy as Girasole in the world. He has been with him for so many years, from the age of seven to 21, listening to him tell fairy tales and sing songs all the time.Then he watched him cry in the mirror to him.

Going up the stone stairs full of dusty smell, he saw the sunlight quietly sprinkled on the ground from the blue wooden window, and the dust was flying in the sunlight.He said to Girasole: You should go alone. I have never known about your affairs. This is your secret.

Sogno is Girasole's secret, Akanishi Jin is Kamenashi Kazuya's secret, no one else in this world knows.

However, Girasole said: It's okay, Kazuya, I want you to know.At least after I disappear, there is still a third person in this world who knows what happened between me and him.

In the old, dusty apartment, Sogno and Girasole lived together for a year.Nothing has changed, all the furnishings, the photographic equipment on the bed, the scattered landscape photos on the table, and even the half-pack of cigarettes he left behind are still in their original places.

On a sunny afternoon four years ago, Sogno said to Girasole who was still sleeping, I went out to buy rose seeds, and your favorite pralina sandwich chocolate, and I will be back soon.

Maybe it only takes 10 minutes, maybe no matter how long it is, it will only be an afternoon. When Girasole opens his eyes again, he will see his beloved Sogno playing with the rose seeds he just bought on the windowsill. He promised Girasole to plant them for him. A whole garden of roses.And Girasole only needs one flower, and one flower is enough.

Sogno never came back, and Girasole waited and waited in this apartment, sitting on the window sill every day watching the people coming and going below, and the shadow of flying birds passing by in the sky, but that person never came back.

Four years later, he was on the streets of Tokyo, Japan, tens of thousands of miles away, and finally determined that he would never come back and that he was dead.

Fingers gently caressed the slightly rough stone on the window sill, opened the window, and the sun rushed in from outside.Together with the boiling human voice on the street.He stood in such rustling sunlight, quietly shedding tears. Tears of Girasole.

Probably for the last time, Girasole shed tears inside him.From the moment he turned around, all his tears belonged to Kamenashi Kazuya.

When was the first time I wanted to leave Ren, it should be that moment.

The back wall is full of photos of Sogno and Girasole, the Italian landscape, the ancient stone streets, and the transparent sky looking up. They are in it, and their smiles are like the afternoon sun, clean without a shadow.

Girasole never told him that Sogno turned out to be such a man, with slightly curly hair, tear moles looming in the corners of his eyes, such a beautiful oriental man.That face, in the 350 six days and nights in Tokyo, Japan, every minute and every second by his side, there was a gentle smile.

It turned out to be the case.

His vision gradually became blurred, and his tears were so abundant that it seemed that no matter how much he shed, he couldn't stop them.

Girasole, you disappear.Say softly to your love in Italy with the man you love, Arrivederci.

This love, if it dies here, will definitely continue in another place in another way.

Light disappears, darkness descends, but there must be a different light, reborn in another place.Even with the huge shadows of birds flying overhead.

Who can say that love that lives in the shadows is not love?

Even if he loves Girasole instead of Kamenashi Kazuya, I still love him.

The reporter proudly showed him the photo in his hand in front of him, and he looked at him with the coldest eyes.The anger in my heart has been spreading like a prairie fire.What made him angry was not this shameless man's taking the opportunity to blackmail and blackmail.He just didn't understand why there would always be people like this in the world who would forcefully break up other people's already fragmented lives, and even deprive them of their little chance to breathe free air.Before he could tell his price, he stood up abruptly: Don't push yourself too far!Do whatever you want, I won't give you a dime anyway!

He won't pay him a dime for the so-called hush money, and there's no need for it.There is no such thing as fear in his heart, he just wants to find a place quietly, with the love that he lives in the dark and loses all retreats, and live this long life alone.Maybe I will go to the beach in California, watch the sunrise and sunset every day, stop writing, and spend all my time thinking about another person every day.

Akanishi Jin.

After returning from Italy, he always thought that it was not him who was loving, but another person in his body, a person who would never appear again.

But no.He guessed wrong.

He originally thought that he would never see him again, but the person he loved cut off all escape routes with his own hands.The reporter died, in a car accident on the highway.It is very simple to cut the brake line when people are not prepared.It's also a no-brainer to meet at a gas station near the highway.Even if he can't be killed this way, Jin still has many ways to get back what he wants.

Because he loves him so much and is willing to do everything for him without letting him know.

Made a hearty breakfast.This is the only thing he can do, let's die together.It should be a mourning for this period of love that sacrificed three lives and there is no turning back.No one can escape, because they are already burdened with crimes, because what they are in is always a vortex that keeps sinking in the darkness.

With another identity, perhaps their love can become a legend passed down by the world.But he, Kamenashi Kazuya, will never be able to use his real name to love that man named Akanishi Jin openly.

What Kazuya wanted was only this love that was immersed in darkness from beginning to end and could not see the light.What a ridiculous contradiction, but when he wanted to laugh, he shed tears like this.

After all, he gave up, and Jae-in told him that I love you, not Sogno, not Girasole.They are in love with the identity of He Ye and Ren.

Beloved, he's all alone.

After sweeping away the dish of poisonous spaghetti, he supported Ren's body and slowly fell to the ground.Run away alone, bear all the charges, and escape to the end of the world or the cape that no one knows, so that no one will suspect the person he loves, so everyone will think that it is Kamenashi Kazuya who absconded in fear of crime.

It was the last thing he did for Ren.

There is a kind of love with thousands of endings, but the best one is probably to miss each other for the rest of our lives separated by an unknown distance.

Jin smiled softly, his white face was covered with tears in the moonlight.It turns out that you all know that his expression is calm like I have never seen before.

Who are you from Kazuya, he is willing to tell you all such secret things.

You know, there are a lot of details that even I don't know.His smiling eyes seemed to be laughing at himself.The person he loved deeply never told him these things.

Does Jin know that it is precisely because of love that there are deceptions, concealments, and countless irreparable tears?

I was just an irrelevant person, and Kazuya met me and told me about it.To me, it's just a story, once you hear it, you turn around and forget it.

Yeah, I'm different from you, I can't forget it in my whole life.

JIN, I will not persuade you to turn yourself in.That's not my advice to give you.

He suddenly withdrew his smile, and I realized that when he wasn't smiling, he seemed to be smiling coldly.He ignored my words and just asked me: what do you want me to do?What do I have to do before you tell me where is He Ye?

I looked directly into his eyes, the habitual tenderness and smile in his eyes had already faded away, only the cold chill remained.

The vegetable salad is ready, but the knife is still in JIN's hand.

I looked at the phone, it was as quiet as if it had been broken.

I just want to know, why did you kill Yamashita?I asked him.

I didn't kill him, he replied.

Yes, you did not kill him.Just a little hint, like a threatening letter from a Yamashita fan.It is enough to make an obsessed girl with persecution delusions believe that only by killing Yamashita can you, the one she loves, be truly safe.Only in this way can you severely punish the bad guy who threatened you.

Since you are so smart, how could you not guess the reason why Yamashita must die.For the first time, he showed me a weird smile.

I suddenly remembered the psychological test questions that countless criminals had done. 90.00% of five prisoners would come up with the same answer.

I think I have solved one last mystery, and the answer is chilling.

Do you want to love this person so shattered from the beginning?I asked this question in my mind.But JIN seemed to see through my mind.

Yes, that's the only way I can love him.His answer was simple and powerful, and his fingertips lightly brushed the sharp blade with great skill.

I don't know and where too.I calmly drank the last sip of cold coffee, I said.

It doesn't matter, I know he will come to me. Jin suddenly showed that innocent smile again, if you die, he will definitely appear at your funeral.

I think that is indeed the case.

The phone finally rang.

One, two, three.

Zi…………..

The answering machine turns on automatically, waiting to record a telephone message for the owner.

A slightly metallic voice sounded happily: F, openthedoor. It'sme, your dearazuya.

END

Prequel - Sickness

In my memory, there is no future, no present, only the past.What color was it in the past?For many children, their childhood has toys, parents who love them, colorful balloons, and large expanses of bright sunshine.Their childhood is colorful and colorful.For me, there was only one kind of gray in my childhood, a dull gray. I have seen its true color, the color of my grandmother's ashes.

In the small town in my hometown, all the families are poor and live in simple wooden houses.On a sunny day, the wood exudes a rotten smell, which permeates into the seemingly bright air.I would imagine the sizzling sound of the wood-eating bugs in the wood being sun-penetrated through their bodies.

In fact, they were still alive in the wood, gnawing at the dead wood for years and years, scattering brown insect meal around the pillars of the house.I often take a small stick to stir the pile of powder that looks like remains of bones, and I always feel that there must be worm eggs in it, and the corpses of worms that died before they were born.

Grandma's old voice would come from the dark kitchen, like a voice coming from a cave on the mountain, with a long ending called Kazuya, Kazuya.In my earliest memories, there is only this aging voice and this dim wooden house with dim light all the year round.

The first time my heart thumped was when my grandma called my name tremblingly. It had nothing to do with any innocent and lovely girls, nothing to do with any sweet memories worthy of joy and collection, and even nothing to do with any family, love and friendship. I was just pure Just be afraid.

A wooden house, an aging man, a growing child, nothing else.

I was holding the only rabbit doll, and its body had been scratched, exposing the white cotton inside.I dare not ask my grandma to sew it for me. She is busy every day, making plastic flowers with her wrinkled hands, and weaving countless baskets.I gently stuffed the cotton into the rabbit's belly with my fingers, and I hugged it and sat under the eaves and sang to it. That was the only place where there was sunshine.In the dark kitchen nearby, water in the kettle gurgles on the stove blackened by smoke.The sky has become dark, and I can't see the dark stoves and cooking utensils in the kitchen. I can only see the white smoke rising in the darkness, faintly like smoke from another world.I thought of the invisible spirits in the ghost stories my grandmother told me, moaning and cooing in pain.

Grandma told me to watch it, and I watched it obediently until she came back from town with toddling steps.But the water is boiling and I should take it off the stove.

I put the small stool I was sitting on in front of the stove, and awkwardly lifted the handle of the kettle with a wet rag.

The hot air from the water evaporated on my arm, which was very painful.My fear was long overdue, and I wanted to back subconsciously. The kettle was already on the verge of falling, the wooden stool lost its balance, and before the boiling hot water poured down on me, a withered hand pulled me violently in another direction.

With a sound of "bang", all the hot water poured on the dirty ground, as if polluted, the blackness spread all the way on the ground, winding down to the lower part.It was just that the hot water splashed on the back of my hand, but I cried very hard. Grandma couldn't hear my screams, so she could only comfort me one after another. Her bony hand stroked the back of my hand that was scorched red. I just Feeling scared, my whole body is shaking, as if I can hear the sound of teeth gnashing.

It wasn't my burned hands that made me cry.It was my rabbit, the rabbit who had just finished singing to it, lying in the still sizzling hot water, rising white air pervading around it, the wooden door not far away was closed in the dim dusk The wind squeaked, and I felt like I saw a soul.

It's just a bunny doll, starting to get old and worn out, but I think it has a soul.Because I have told so many stories to it and sung so many songs to make it laugh.It hears my voice as I hear its voice.It was calling my name, and the timid voice reached my ears.

It said: Kazuya, I feel very painful very painful.I cried and cried desperately to pick it up, but grandma pulled me hard and refused to let me go. The rabbit lay there pitifully, with white cotton exposed from the broken hole in its stomach.

The boiling hot water made a scorching sound on the smooth skin, and the flesh and blood were scorched and turned up in the scalding, and the glue was blurred.Crystal clear blisters stretched across the skin, large expanses shining with fragile light.The body couldn't resist the scalding water temperature, the helpless injury, the pain of the skin being pierced and pulled.

Only by imagining it this way will I feel a little better.

The fear and panic in my heart are relieved in the weird imagination.It wasn't me who was hurt, it wasn't something I liked, I was just fantasizing, imagining all the stress I was under, transplanted into another individual.He was hurt and I was unscathed.

The metaphor the rabbit gave me.When I was seven years old, I remembered it.

There is a big carved wooden bed in my grandmother's room, and she told me that it was originally intended as a dowry for my mother.But grandma welcomed me before my mother got married.A tiny baby who just gnaws on its own fist.So that beautiful wooden bed became my cradle, and I didn't know the whole world before walking.

On the back of the pillar on the left side of the bed, there was a bloodstain the size of a fist.The blood penetrated deeply into the wood and solidified into a dark red hue, like patterns carved abruptly on the wood.When my grandma told me stories, she would point to that piece of wood and say to me, Look, Kazuya, this is your blood.You have to remember that disobedient children who run around will be punished.

I don’t remember how I bumped into that pillar for a long time, the bone of my nose knocked against the hard wood and made a crisp rattling sound, the blood slowly flowed out from my nasal cavity and seeped into the wood, maybe the bugs inside would also taste my blood Blood.

The taste of blood is sweet and greasy, with a little fishy and salty taste.

I grew up on this bed, and my grandmother grew old on this bed.The long cough, through the thin wooden boards between the rooms, penetrated the cold air in the middle of the night, wrapped me in layers, and dared not breathe too loudly, the old wooden door creaked, and the window was blurred There seemed to be a monster lurking in the shadow of the mountain. I hid in the dusty blanket, listened to my grandma coughing, and sang softly to the rabbit in my arms. Grandma sewed it up with a needle and thread, and the cotton thread protruded weirdly.The long ears of the rabbit hang down on my arm, where there are still traces of hot water burns.The color of purplish red, I don't know how long it will take to heal.

Grandma ended up dying on the carved wooden bed with my blood on her, she was too old.There are as many wrinkles on the hands as on the face, and the protruding blue veins are like winding snakes, climbing on the back of the hands.This old man who had worked so hard to raise my mother and me spent all his dying years sitting in a dark wooden house weaving countless baskets and countless cold plastic flowers.

Then, like a waste abandoned by this world, quietly lay on the bed waiting for death.

I hugged the rabbit tightly, and sat on the edge of the bed, resisting the fear slowly rising in my heart, and let her bony hands grab me and stroke me gently.I don't know if it's my skin touching her or her fingers touching me.

Grandma, I will take you to the hospital.You will be fine.

No, Kazuya, I'm not going anywhere.

I will stay here, your mother is coming back soon, I want to wait for her here.

She insisted on lying on a bed she had bought with hard-earned money, waiting for her daughter who was a dancing girl to come back.Come back and take a look at her.

I didn't cry, I let her touch my face over and over again, and then suddenly, her hand dropped to the side of the bed.On the wood next to the protruding knuckles of those hands that had lost all life, there were bloodstains from my childhood.

Her eyes were kept wide open, and I looked up in the direction of her gaze.

There was nothing, only a piece of dark and old wooden beams, and a hanging dusty electric lamp.

Gently reach out and pull down the light cord, the light goes out, and everything returns to darkness.

I don't see a soul.

A strange voice appeared in my ear, gentle and calm, and said to me.

Kazuya, don't cry, you and me, I've always been here.

Who are you and what is your name?

I don't have a name yet.....

……….May I get one for you?

OK………..

Someone pushed open the wooden door and walked in in the light.I turned to look at the person.

A slim, long-haired woman with red high heels on her bare feet.

Darkness like light is still darkness.

She is a mother I have never met.

Prequel - Mad Men

Disobedient children should be punished.

So I'm sitting here, in a room with no windows, only a faint light coming in through the crack of the door.I was terrified, trying to keep my body down, trying to get a little light on my bare skin, cold and hungry, with only a singlet and shorts on, and no food.The humid air in the basement was so cold that water could be squeezed out.I'm like a mouse stuck in a dirty sewer.

Disobedient children should not be given food.

So I lay prone on the cold ground, greedily following the only light on the ground, with a hungry sound in my stomach.There seemed to be the sound of footsteps, and the light was blocked. I crawled to the door and scratched at the door with feeble fingers, without making any sound in my throat.If there is light, you should be able to see the mottled scratches of my fingernails all over the door.

There was no water, no food, only a nervous voice came through the crack of the door into my tinnitus eardrum.

Ren, are you there?Jen, Jen.

I sat back in the corner with no expression on my face again, sitting in the darkness beyond the light, biting my nails bit by bit.What I need is food and water, not useless cries and pity.

I don't need money and power, I don't need my father and brother.The former does not belong to me, the latter will only lock me in a dark room, and the other will only call my name in a neurotic tone.

All I need is a little food and nothing.

Another footstep came, and the voice that made me shudder sounded warmly outside the door: Haoyi, what are you doing?Go back to your room, the teacher is waiting for you.

We are all his children, but one from the womb of the woman he loves, a mere offspring that should never see the light of day.One has a hereditary mental illness, and the other has an intelligence of 180.

The abnormal one received a good education and cultivation outside the door, while the normal one was shut in and isolated from the world.

I laughed out loud in the dark, like watching a ridiculous joke.The man outside the door was irritated by my laughter. He must have thought that I would cry, so he beat the door panel hard, making a loud bang.He shouted in a rude voice: Don't laugh, do you hear me?I forbid you to laugh! !

I laughed louder and louder, almost crying, and even the darkness trembled in my laughter.The man outside the door tried desperately to reassure his terrified eldest son before finally finding a way to shut me up.

It turned out that it wasn't blocked here.He sneered.

When I rushed to the door, the last ray of light disappeared suddenly in the damp and cold air before my fingertips could catch it.There was the knocking of the hammer on the iron nails, the squeak of the iron nails mercilessly hammering into the plank, and the faint moan of despair rolling in my throat.The only remaining hope was also crucified on the sinful cross.

The man let out a triumphant laugh, floating in the air, and even the air suddenly became extremely turbid.Restoring his sanctimony, he takes his son away.

I rest my head against the wall and never again will my fingers reach out to find the light.

Because the light has disappeared, the light never appeared.

It's just my own illusion.

That moment.

The sound of sharp brakes, the exclamation of passers-by, and the sound of birds passing by in the sky, all mixed together like a mournful elegy.

I walked over expressionlessly, and saw a large pool of scarlet blood in the gap between the crowd. His blood flowed on the gray asphalt road, like a large rotten flower blooming in the sun, dark red with a strong fishy smell .As if it had stopped and frozen, the individual it came from had also stopped breathing.From this moment, the flesh began to rot and decompose slowly under the action of air and other substances.Life is like fallen leaves in autumn, disappearing on the branches and reborn on the dirt ground.

No one will know which piece of soil and at which time.

I still seem to remember his voice, in the bright studio, he was painting a whole piece of fiery red sky.The whole stick of paint was smeared on the canvas, condensing a scorching scene, the distorted human figure was roasted under the sky, with an almost crazy expression, no eyes, no mouth and nose.

Just expressions, expressions of pain.

Ren, do you like it?I give it to you.

You're a lunatic, and I don't talk to lunatics.

Who is a lunatic?

you are you!

Jen, I thought you'd be happy.Because this is my favorite painting.

His voice was always flat and without ups and downs. He held the index finger of his right hand and rubbed it with his left hand, and his eyes were always looking directly at me.

He stood in the sunshine and smiled at me, a calm lunatic, even I went crazy with him, would this world be better?

But I didn't, just stood in the shadows looking at his face, turned and left.

However, this time I didn't speak, and for the first time showed a smile to him who was dead.

Goodbye, brother.

Goodbye, Ren.

I walked all the way in the other direction with a smile on my face.

died.The last person in this world who is willing to smile at me is also dead.

He is a lunatic.

I'm also crazy.

There are only two kinds of people in this world, one is crazy and the other is dead.

The sky is as hot as fire, and the sun is so dazzling.

A funeral, and then another funeral.

One is more sloppy than the other, and the other is more barren than the other.

For a long, long time, I didn't know what I looked like.

Men, women, children, beautiful, ugly, healthy, disabled, all look the same to me.I'm just a person who mixes with the crowd with wounds, and I still feel cold when I walk in the sun.

No identity, no past, I only live in the present.

The empty present.

Italian present.

The mirror was so huge that I finally saw it again.How much I miss those time that passed by in a hurry. When I was a simple child, I often stood in front of this mirror and looked at my body.I tried my best to grow a little taller, and I almost reached the mark my mother drew on the mirror.She promised me that when I was as tall as the mark on the mirror, she would take me to see the fountains in Rome.

A little bit, a little bit, I can take my mother's hand and go to Rome to see the fountain.

Never be seen.

She is dead.

No money to see a doctor, it's as simple as that.

When I was 12 years old in black mourning clothes standing in front of the mirror and weeping silently, I still fantasized that my mother would walk into the room in the afternoon sun like an ordinary afternoon, stand behind me with a smile, and call me softly.

Jen, look what I brought you?

I wiped away my tears, turned my head, and saw the man standing at the door with cold eyes.

The first sentence he said: She is finally dead, you, come back with me.

Didn't call my name, I'm just his son, no need for extra names.

Four years later, he committed suicide in prison as a corrupt congressman, and I had the same cold eyes as him outside the prison.

No, maybe colder than his.

I slowly opened my eyes, not remembering that I had experienced a car accident that almost took my life.

I just remember that I fell into a deep sleep in a sunless afternoon, as if I had been asleep for centuries.

When I woke up, it was already autumn three years later.

In the bathroom mirror, I saw the strange man.The edges and corners of the young face are also extremely soft, with a familiar nervous expression.

I can't tell the difference between people, I can only tell the difference between a madman and a dead person.

There is no doubt that he is also a madman.

Another lunatic sprang from me, smiling at me with a nervous expression in the sun.

who are you?

He didn't speak, he held the index finger of his right hand with his left hand and rubbed it slowly, and then wrote a name on the mirror, Sogno.

I smiled, running my fingers over his name on the smooth mirror.

What a wonderful thing, how similar and yet completely different sides, me and him.

I am me and he is him.

With a bang, the mirror shattered into countless pieces. I wiped the blood on my hands as if nothing had happened, and stroked my somewhat messy hair facing the shattered mirror.A nurse's voice came from outside, Mr. Akanishi.

Yes, I only have one name, Jin Akanishi.

From now on, I only have one name and one soul.

A lunatic's soul, one is enough.

Sogno, what a wonderful name......

I will spend my life killing you.

If you don't want to leave me.

Postscript Fragrance of the End Times——To My Personality

Sogno still remembers that boy, wearing a white plaid shirt and cotton trousers, with slightly curly hair with a mischievous taste, squatting in the open space of Castello Square, patiently feeding a group of pigeons.A wandering gypsy walked past him and said loudly to him: Hey, young man, your love is coming.He raised his head, showing a warm smile.

Unobtrusively capture his every move, a smile, even a small movement of hair.He is his mysterious Moose, and his inspiration blooms brilliantly when he meets him, like flowers blooming in the dark night, and large swaths of them sway in the wind.Such beautiful stunning scenery.

Until No.13 met him, Sogno finally came to him and asked in English: Would you like me to take a photo?

The young man raised his face, his eyebrows and eyes were clean and pure, although it was daytime, there seemed to be bits of starlight in his eyes.

OKHe spoke Japanese, and when he spoke, his eyes seemed to smile, and the starlight rippling gently in the depths of his eyes.The bright sunshine of Turin, Italy, couldn't match the smile that this young man raised his head.

He took the young man back to his apartment, and the young man stopped in front of the wall covered with photos, his slender fingers moving slowly over the landscape photos.The outline of the side face is drawn softly under the afternoon sun, reflecting a touch of tenderness.

He raised the camera, and the young man smiled at him behind the lens. The sun shone down, and the angel with broken wings from heaven fell to the mortal world and was met by him.

The teenager took him to play, and the two of them shuttled through the tall and ancient stone alleys, stepped barefoot in the open-air fountain, screamed to avoid the police's pursuit, and kept running.He mischievously picked a wild chrysanthemum in the wind, and gently inserted it in the hair of his ears and temples.He was jumping down the long stairs while guessing fists, his feet were unsteady, and the boy was about to fall, Sogno stretched out his hand to catch him steadily.The little man giggled in his warm arms.

Under the heavy raining sky, under the eaves of no one, this cute boy stood on tiptoe and kissed his face.See him blushing, and then laugh.

He is Sogno's naive elf, who escaped from the enchanted forest, surrounded by mischief.

After taking the one hundred and one photo of the boy, Sogno stretched out his hands and gently hugged him from behind.This time, he decided to remember this person with his body.The kiss fell on his slender neck in pieces, and the black and brown hair were tangled together.The boy turned his head, his lips rubbed against his fair and delicate cheeks, and turned.Finally, they touched the softest lips, and they entangled each other seriously, their tongues clumsily danced with his lips, their little faces were flushed, and they made pleasant sounds in his ears. Sogno couldn't bear to let go of him, and has been hugging this slender body tightly with all his strength.On the black bed sheets, whiteness and pitch black reflected, the young man's body was a pure white night rose, blooming at twelve o'clock in the middle of the night, charming and pure.The mixture of contradictions made him fall in love with him like he fell in love with poppies, and he got stuck in the mud and couldn't extricate himself.

Leaving petal-like imprints on his body, Sogno hoped that he would remember him, remember the man who took him home, ran with him, hugged him in the wind, and took countless photos of him.For he shall never forget him.

There were tears in the corners of the boy's eyes, which shone like dew under the moonlight. He leaned forward and kissed them one by one.Let the young man bloom wantonly under his body again and again.Arrive with him in the beautiful world on the other side, spinning around, flying together, or falling together.

Sogno asked him: What's your name?tell me, what's your name.....

A slight voice sounded like a whisper: Call me Girasole......

He smiled: You are not Girasole, you are Angelo.Angelo that belongs to me alone.

The teenager was unconscious under his touch, and he only murmured: Do you like roses?do you like it?

He laughed again, his fingers had already penetrated deeper, and he needed more responses: I like it, my favorite is roses......

The boy's groans came intermittently, accompanied by rapid breathing: I...I want to plant a rose for you...

He said: Well, we'll go there tomorrow