Did that just come out of my mouth, his mouth, your mouth? I had an image of the man turning to the facet as a result of he was gagging after which spitting out a bunch of bloody teeth. Then he realized he would not be living with that. And then I begin writing. Once i lean on the shoulder of the girl I like, and can see, let’s say, the peace of twilight over a mountain panorama, gold-inexperienced fields, the shadow of trees, black-nosed sheep motionless behind hedges and the sun about to disappear behind craggy peaks, and know - not from the expression on her face, however from throughout the world as it is - that the girl I really like is seeing the identical world, and that this convergence is a part of the world and that love constitutes exactly, at that very second, the paradox of an an identical difference, then love exists, and guarantees to proceed to exist.
Here is my web page ::
fucking shit
