Every year, on weekends, my mother's daughter came to the bedroom to help us into the man's bedroom full of men. She's a girl who grows and develops year by year, but even as her body grows, she's still an innocent child, maybe because he's been helping her for so long, I've been dressed in the bedroom like she's weak, So it's only natural that she should have a fridge and a chest patch. Such naivety and loss forced my stance, and I held out my hand, though I thought it was useless
