Maybe - then one day this disbelieving katyvas, an obsessed idyll, a futile self-branding that many consider the secrets of my heart will end. What was this drowning air resistance, a volcanic eruption? A short but more lasting successful armament with the power of Words. - See orphan, my pessimism left to me is forced to chase me because it has nestled in the target of my head and my whole life has been

hesitant to insecurity, one-time escape! "I would have liked to have laughed proudly at the World in your arms, but I could not take heart and never forgive you or myself: Silver ice beads shattered your sincere face like true beads!" "Now that you really aren't physical, but maybe you're standing next to me with spiritual smoldering faith, I still don't know if I'll listen to wise advice and destroy you forever from the island of my desires if you ask: Why my tearful vulnerability?" Then maybe he will answer for me! After all, it was so good to sit with you in prison benches, to sit in shackles, miserable, and to rest, and to watch and watch with my persistent patience: the throbbing hammering of your sweet heart as it enters

to a more private terrain, and how comforting and reassuring your overwhelming victim, which you have brought for me, when, in the midst of the hunger of starving wolves, he has lifted my bleeding honor, the human hills of my morals, to the wings of your angelic patience.