hello
I took some kg , I cut my hair, I bought some shoes. I gave 2 analysis, as well as static, finally. I decided not to ever play the piano. I decided not to vote for Europe. I left to restrict the expansion to 0.8. I bought a ticket for san sebastian and then not playing . I found a new job. I met people. I made paper mache masks for the wave. I marched on Rome November 14. I discovered martell . I stopped with some stuff. I slept with my sister. I removed some photos from the walls. I gave her the best party of my life. I waited for hours at the station. I learned to play a trump. I ate pigeon. I did un'elefante to the clouds. I started to buy cigarettes. I brought my little sister to her first concert at Palapartenope . I unpacked. I have not and never rebuilt.
I met someone. I forgot how to speak. I was afraid to say too much or too little. I searched for answers. I looked for a sign. I looked down the stairs step by step, into your shoes are too big. I saw you give me your shoulders turn around and leave without further back to look at me. I may have tried that never happened. I wanted too and I did not close anything. I believed that the heat close to you, for a moment, he stopped to strangle. and this sadness creeping, that for some 'me time, she loosened her grip.
the nice thing about not having more than 16 years, is that you know exactly what you want.
The bad thing is that, at that point, begin to demand it.
in an ideal world, a better world, in a simpler world ... this whole stupid story has a different end: my final ...
Orwell would be proud of me: I tend to continually rewrite history to my taste. I better end. I imagine a parallel situation in which, in the end, the trains take away people always start late, and the children are being born, the rain falls only when needed, and the people who would not leave well together.
in my final, you put your hand on the handle of the door and block you. part of the background, something like friend of the night of mogwai , we is always a good little 'plan, scenes mothers. Stay a while in my final 'with his hand on the handle of the door to fix something useless, like you usually do. Type the mailboxes. Then chew it a curse, levi's hand on the handle and go back, up the stairs.
and I'll open the door and I a face vaguely intelligent and stay a while 'staring at me, impaled in the penumbra from post-atomic building. and no one has something appropriate and brilliant to say.
and everything worked terribly well so!
I took some kg , I cut my hair, I bought some shoes. I gave 2 analysis, as well as static, finally. I decided not to ever play the piano. I decided not to vote for Europe. I left to restrict the expansion to 0.8. I bought a ticket for san sebastian and then not playing . I found a new job. I met people. I made paper mache masks for the wave. I marched on Rome November 14. I discovered martell . I stopped with some stuff. I slept with my sister. I removed some photos from the walls. I gave her the best party of my life. I waited for hours at the station. I learned to play a trump. I ate pigeon. I did un'elefante to the clouds. I started to buy cigarettes. I brought my little sister to her first concert at Palapartenope . I unpacked. I have not and never rebuilt.
I met someone. I forgot how to speak. I was afraid to say too much or too little. I searched for answers. I looked for a sign. I looked down the stairs step by step, into your shoes are too big. I saw you give me your shoulders turn around and leave without further back to look at me. I may have tried that never happened. I wanted too and I did not close anything. I believed that the heat close to you, for a moment, he stopped to strangle. and this sadness creeping, that for some 'me time, she loosened her grip.
the nice thing about not having more than 16 years, is that you know exactly what you want.
The bad thing is that, at that point, begin to demand it.
in an ideal world, a better world, in a simpler world ... this whole stupid story has a different end: my final ...
Orwell would be proud of me: I tend to continually rewrite history to my taste. I better end. I imagine a parallel situation in which, in the end, the trains take away people always start late, and the children are being born, the rain falls only when needed, and the people who would not leave well together.
in my final, you put your hand on the handle of the door and block you. part of the background, something like friend of the night of mogwai , we is always a good little 'plan, scenes mothers. Stay a while in my final 'with his hand on the handle of the door to fix something useless, like you usually do. Type the mailboxes. Then chew it a curse, levi's hand on the handle and go back, up the stairs.
and I'll open the door and I a face vaguely intelligent and stay a while 'staring at me, impaled in the penumbra from post-atomic building. and no one has something appropriate and brilliant to say.
and everything worked terribly well so!
.. photo ..
and motion-picture a la carrière, photo by me
.. music ..
mogwai .. Frined of the night
breil .. the chanson des vieux amants
because I'm sorry, the song is a bit excessive, but
certain words seem to me more true in French!
and motion-picture a la carrière, photo by me
.. music ..
mogwai .. Frined of the night
breil .. the chanson des vieux amants
because I'm sorry, the song is a bit excessive, but
certain words seem to me more true in French!
" miles time you took your luggage / miles times I took my off
and each cabinet is remembers / of bursts of storms
nothing more not like to rien / you avais perdu the goût de l 'eau / et moi celu de la Conque "
"a thousand times did you get your luggage / thousand times I went on.
and remembers every piece of furniture / the lightning contrasts
there was a right thing / you lost your heat / and I fever of conquest.
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