ืงืืืืจืืืช
๐ธ๏ธ๐ท๏ธ
ืึดืืืึธืึธืจ
ืึดืื21
ืงืืจืืโญ3,870
ืขืืื
โI exchange glances with the ceiling of my room,
Both of us swear that collapse is near.โ
ืืคืฆืื
11
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