“Whom do you want to love?” Me, the eccentric waif asked a lovely flower.
“If there’s a beetle who returns to me even after knowing, there won’t be even an ounce of nectar left in that flower after it’s being brutally exploited by him.”
In the journey forward, I met a beetle and repeated the same question: “Whom do you want to love?”
“If there’s a flower who still longs for me even after it was viciously exploited by me.”
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