guess never lived. Or rather if, ultimately, I lived a few things. Few insignificant. But what do they know?
These reports out of phase arises only emptiness, nothing, paintings abundant terror, apprehension, and inertia. Emerging needs that remain unmet few having been able to meet earlier or, failing that, too advanced for our meetings. No, these are not meetings, these are shocks. Species clashes unfit and dithering abstract concepts that do not know anything. It gets caught, then the passions suspended tire. But we promised, and sacrifice, I knew him.
Do not get me wrong, you who fly in space parachute variegated periwinkle and swallows, never confuses. Do you know what is the disembodiment? I think I scraped my wings sufficiently before the sin of worldliness is m'exige redemption. It seems to me - in memory over time is becoming more widespread - one day having cleared a lifetime, preferring an unstable future as uncertain. Love, though we should say, is only a pretext. I do not love you, you do not love, we love. To be taken in the right direction, obviously. And also, I said several After several days, weeks, months that I loved her. Do you know? Who goes there?
Was it me? Surely. Was it him? In-doubt. Just can not know the communion that one who lived alone. It is my pain, my yoke, the death knell of defeat and shame, the separation of soul and body, one neglected, abandoned, forgotten, hung with pictures, bits of architecture, gardens, crops , eclectic, customs, activities, symbols of the past, the other vagabonds mutilation in contortions of the afflicted incomplete conditional dark, vile, dumb and dangerous. You know, you pretend that, you realize only the magnitude of such a being divided?
It would certainly have some leanings little expected. He'll hold you in the second when he falls in love next. However, it is good that you know. That the world will shine if you suffered unconsciously; give intelligible signs, and if you do succeed, hidden them. With time, patience, mother of virtues, the overdose of a Los Angeles fleeting disrepair, prey to disillusionment anamorphic, while the world stage convetionnelle you will be revealed. Take our time. No commitment, no act, no contract other than to intimate the wire that potentially binds us. What do I know? Who am I? Who goes there?
I'm not the one I was. I do not know what I know nothing. I fall into the abyss as you sow, and dread came over me at the slightest sparkle. N'extrapolerais thou not thinking about them as you please? Do not make me say what I never said, do you? Children are irrelevant because of their innocence. But a child who has lost that innocence is simply a monstrous adult - for her entourage, and especially for himself. If this idea excites you, either. I scarified my life in my veins supporting the tragic cry of an adult-child knows that this is not what I want, away from me this will-is a sacred romance. I do love you maybe not, who knows? Who goes there?
Yes, that bright?
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