Benedict stretched out his hand to embrace her, his face pressed against her waist and abdomen: “I’m sorry, Ayin.”
Veronica moved the corners of his lips slightly, revealing a gentle and tolerant smile, fingertips lightly fiddled with his shallow hair: “I don’t like it. I’m sorry between us. It’s not your fault.”
It’s not your fault, it’s the wound you’ve carved into your bones, but you don’t even know the scar.
I can’t bear to blame you for the slightest bit of blame, but I feel more distressed about your weakness and not knowing how to express it.
My silence, such a beautiful person, such a dazzling person, what has he experienced to get hurt so deeply?
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