>It burns in me the love that couldvé formed. The erotica that couldvé been extablished, the depth that could've been formulated. But you left, and all I'm left with is your unwanted scars and burdens that are not mine. The grass is wet and the sun is hot, but my soul is in pain and lingers for yours. **** me like you hate me, but, kiss me like you miss me.

<I started to love and the love that surrounds me can be as deep as a cannon that has been created but I'm not left with my left eye. The grass is wet and the sun is very hot, but my soul is sick and sick for you · · · You miss me as much as you love me, zeitgeist / ts?t???st, z?t???st / name for Valerie's Dictionary. You hate me as I do condoms; However, as the story evolved through thoughts and thoughts, a specific period of time in the spirit of emotional zeitgeist in the mid-nineteenth century: Zeit 'time' + geist 'spirit' is in German. There is love within me that engenders inner love. But I apologize for my injuries. The grass is wet and the sun is very hot, but my life will be tormented. I do not know if you do not like me, but you say: "I'm not telling you." There is a love that can be formed in the depths. But give me some scars. The grass is wet and the sun is very hot, but my soul stays in it. I do not know if you do not like me, but you say: "I'm not telling you."

>I'm not telling you, But I'd love to whisper the words that conform to your being of thoughtless scrutiny. Whisper back in a silent forecast and let your words be heard by me. As the wet grass sinks in the sand, I see our love has sunken too. Nothing but the pain to hold onto. You love me, but is it enough? I love you, and it's enough. Your love is poison and it's intoxicating to my existence. Like a harsh summer breeze that is hard to foresee, can I still write my feelings without thinking I am delusional, ought to be. Love me hard but your toxicity stands in the way, as your feelings en-dour, my love stays true. A consistent loyalty that leaves a bruise. Before you know it, you left, as you said you would. Cut me out like a harsh knife that needs no razor blade, like a clean slice, you just left me in your scars. But with that pain, for some reason, even if I have let you go, I still love you.

<Cut my heart out with a knife or razor blade for a clean slice, just leave your mark.

>Leave your mark but don't leave a scar. Bury your sacred existence elsewhere and leave me to live and love on my own. It's suffocating, it buries my soul, without you, I am free to breathe on my own. The sun is hot, the grass is wet, without your love, I feel free, not dead, consumed by other things, like my mind itself.