Think of a love poem
He told me not to write.
I did not really know Alwan
I laughed.
Flowers to miss
Magnificently open in the heart
When it erodes, it withers again
I'm not sure what to do.
α‘αα»α
αΊααα»α¬αα
αΊαα―ααΊααα― α
ααΊαΈα
α¬αΈααΌαα·αΊαα«α
ααα±αΈααα―α·ααΌα±α¬αα²α·αααΊα
α‘ααΊααΊαααΊααα― ααααΊααααα²α·αα«α
αααΊαααΊα
αααΊαΈαα½α±ααα―αα½ααΊαΈαααΊα
ααΎαα―αΆαΈαα¬αΈαα²ααΎα¬ αααΊαΈαα¬αΈα
α½α¬ αα½αα·αΊαα±αααΊα
αα½α±αΈααΌα±α·αα±α¬α‘αα« ααΎαα―αΈαα½ααΊαΈααΌααΊαααΊα
αα¬αα―ααΊαααΎααΊαΈααααα°αΈα
