begin to have the suspicion that it surpassed anything or anyone. Everything is macerated in, slowly, becoming a substance delicious or terrible, always depends. Is saved as one comes to believe that he has disappeared, and the fleeting joy, momentary peace, tranquility stay for a while. Until you see a photo, warm eyes, a song of the time, this time a beautiful voice echoing in the walls, something that causes an "it" sweet and dangerous, for a pleasure terrible resurgence of emotion. And sigh, and you take the hair, and you wonder why you are where you are, and if there is a way, a way ...
course, then leaves, but the poison may have spread. When you heal all comes back to deep, to continue simmering, waiting for another occasion.
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Another option is that you simply aspire to the outside, the nose, the eyes, ears, and then drowns in that: nostalgia.
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