It’s not that you’re doing your part with the immeasurable heart-stabbing, pregnant weight that, by traversing the placental depths of seaweeds from ancient shells, dissolving in your mother’s heart-squeezing cramps, and embracing: Ensuring your mortal vulnerability with this. - The rotating fortune-frying pan of your scales is ready, and you can't bend it, twitch it, and rotate it to balance, because it swings like a stubborn Get up Jancsi!

It’s not that he’s only half-hearted or selfish-greedy in your love, while the half-orphaned, pink-ruddy who cries on the other cry insists on multiplying the eternities of his insomnia, shattering the intimate turbulences of desire, desire and belief that everything is well done, even with a decent upbringing, you can even be a responsible person under the cosmos.

The only, baby-deliberately deliberately pampered Eden fruit of our love - it's not that in your tiny, iris-life you have to gradually learn the cowardly laws of existence, scour the pledge of your survival as a masterpiece, the smuggler and thief wait for you - but thief the dawn of disappointing dawns for your sweet parents, their promising survival with little hope,

which will be able to overshadow all the map fabrics of your childhood soaked in inhibitions, that you can only be a full-fledged child until school age, because the other pathetic and petty battles of life are only where everyone can go from hyenas Disappointed in your Hopelessness You fall alone as a suicide left alone

begging for help, pleading if he could still be wide here on this earth, who would color the unbearable Being as the rainbow of sacrifice and could be wholeheartedly someone who would not trample and exterminate - but would open it with a rich soul hanging