| Try to open yourself towards the world, and to open all that, which dwells in you, up. May appear easy, indeed I am sure that this is a game merely for somebody so easily can gather up his thoughts from himself. I do not belong to this group. Myself do not consider it interesting one, let me be the last one on the world, who you have to get to know,. But like this maybe easier for you,, everybody.Bad thing it, if you do not know yourself who are you. That be able to write your feelings down punctually you have to know yourself so much that you should not feel that you lie in each single minute. Do not have to claim to be other, what you are. Is punished already so the loop, right? There are so many men on the world that you can never avoid being unable to draw a parallel between an other soul and between you. But there is a thing is, that what somebody else may not know is true for you only only you. How you feel it how, that.What kind of feelings swirl in you day after day. You know, you feel it you are fear for too brave one if you are sad if you are glad you feel yourself. If you have to hate it or if you insist on somebody too much. If the cold shocks you are the heat parches. You know it only, how you feel. This your secret, nobody may not know it. You are special because of this after all on this world. I feel that I would be able to write vainly unfortunately, I am depressed. More punctually it the neither with him-neither without it in a state. What does this mean how? It would be the best one, if me, too tudnám… I would like to march off again, to hide into a heel. With music and a book, that let my energy not be my time that way, how I shall be able to think. Now no. But neither my music, neither I do not have a book. Only an empty one is a room corner. I am alone there in the heel, and I can be thinking only. I don't want it. My hand is due, but i don't know for what. More punctually why, what I announce by way of my hand for the world how when I do not know it – my modest readers. There are days when we are badder, but we have wonderful minutes, but why the bad one remains with scars and wounds in our heart only always? Why do we not remember the good one so strongly? Poetic asking what do-ne answer me. I'm going, I march off into the little heel, and ointments. Dared only it I can. To read i can't, I am not listening, I do not concentrate.My hand ointment, and later, if not anymore everything is calculated from an instinct only, my hand does not direct, something good comes again then then. |








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~Sages-of-Hyrule ~kodomo-no-tsuki ~Visual-Kei-Club
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