I should not love the sun, my blood is a little afraid of burning.

is there any place you especially want to go for the rest of your life?

if it were me, that place might be Iceland.

I like whales and, of course, cats.

in What's background statistics,

many users cannot see their location,

because they mark their location in Iceland.

I believe that in this cold and low-saturation place,

is what many people living in the city want to look like.

maybe i've seen too much. I always get here in my dreams.

I hate the hustle and bustle.

it's like I hate the touch of sweaty skin contact with others in summer.

it's like yearning for a tongue stuck on a popsicle.

it's like being scorched in the sun.

in short, I hate hustle and bustle. I hate places with many people. I hate heat even more.

I like winter.

and I was born in the summer.

I hate busy cities. I seem to be very happy.

but who knows what is going on.

the city is crowded, but barren and empty.

We are busy working for others every day.

Start showing off your stunning figure in our straight wedding dresses. All our available fashions are pocket-friendly.

while standing in the barren landscape,

maybe we can think about ourselves and think about me.

the more people there are, the more boring it is.

A person who doesn't know what to do will do something with a bunch of people.

however, no one knows what to do, and there is a huge hole rising above the

crowd.

the microfilm I'd like to recommend to you today

is called "the Last Farm".

about an old man in Iceland.

you will definitely like this microfilm.

ufeffufeff

one day, the nightmare is gone. Far away, the black cloak no longer floats.

I woke up in the sun, bleeding transparently. It suddenly occurred to me that I should not love the sun. The life of the sun is colored.

attracts countless pure clouds,

attracts potted flowers with many names. The green-winged Eye Bird and Betelnut stared at her. Those rich sunflowers, those tall oak trees as tall as samurai. All raised, the palms of supplication. The volcano is silent and burns with even more terrible desires.

I should not love the sun.

my blood is a little afraid of burning. It's time for me to go, turn around and follow the shadow,

towards the slow dark day and white night.

go to the poles, to cool.

towards whiteness, towards forgetfulness.

"I shouldn't love the sun"