A boy used a paintbrush to draw the story of his parents, from his father as a sunny boy, to the lens depicting his mother as a maid in an upper-class family, his father's little bicycle speeding by, until one day his father knocked on his mother's door, I sent a bunch of flowers to my mother and invited me to watch a movie. Everything was so natural. They got married naturally, and they used all their savings to take out a loan to buy a house. From a bed, and later to my father, he made all kinds of furniture for the family. Later, when a baby was born, the love of parents is like a running account. Obviously it's just a very common thing, but it still touches me. When does each relationship start, is it vigorous or flat?
Companionship is the longest confession
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