seems scientifically found that by a certain date my life was out of breath lying down and not move anymore.
I can hide my little head of ostrich in the sand, but I can not deny the evidence. I realize I
. I even remembered this thing almost every day, plus.
what I'm missing maybe it will, maybe it is a final push, the right wind on which glide smoothly.
or maybe I'm just frightened by the prospect of having to go back to being a bad girl.
I do not quite turn even the thought of him , that will be waiting for a sign of my life, because basically I am aware that, sooner or later, one way or another, will manage to ruin everything.
are appalled by the complete lack of events. probably a part of me is okay, floating languidly in a sea of shit.
Hurry up, damn.
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