violent roses.

we used to have a lot of photos and hid them in the case as we pretended to be like roses to scrape each others face. what we have been living for if we haven't involved any special feeling? but I remember your obtuse sword I have never felt as much pain as I was squealing. but anyway, sorry, both we were wrong about the love especial, of course. I proud of myself: now I'm out of prong. But where are you now? praying for not working in bouse.