О себе:It hurts. That tear each veil of illusion that was created. The tears run down fat by impassive face, which shed the retinas to the weeping of water and salt is not enough. That dull, to take me to the brink of madness this suture poorly made. Wound that has not healed, I was right. There was an emotional infection that only a scalpel could extirpate. Whatever. I have no more healing and not haul placebos hand. What is sleeplessness, agony, despair if this is the case. I do not know life without any one of these emotions. But what will it all: raw, unclean, the unbearable. I can feel down to the bottom of the pores, that all the poison soften my veins, the pain before obsolete, because life required a succession of joys, corrode me with wholeness.
Друзья
Актуальный статус
Because love isn’t just love. It’s all the other stuff, too.