I say this: it is not indifferent to the work of the time it takes to attack, and rather it is what makes age need s' attack.
What is aging like what unravels. But even at twenty one is no longer a child. Already one child has had to learn to walk, talk, to dream the impossible by focusing on all that air to hold the tightrope walking because it's better if there somewhere the marker, the solid. Something on which to build. Already present or imaginary yet. Suffice it to know when we have been able to get rid of it determine its own needs, its own desires. That desire may have taken place.
What is aging like whether to accept the wear being what it eats, while the first form.
Time is a poem. This is not to reduce it. That release.
If I want, whenever I want, I take the stairs going up to the log path to the wooded ridge road to college. And it's also true that when I'd rather go down in the morning along the Bassin de la Villette to catch the subway instead of turning into the street leading to the nearest station. Will be sum of all that was and all that will be, not as a user of a methodical isolated moment that slips between a past that is still full mystery and a future that begins in just a minute.
What makes age as some fears. Coldness. Indifference frantic. As if a wall was a wall. As if a war was a war. As if he had never lost anything. As if he had to become strong and wise. And bow to fatigue issues remained silent, mostly because we have not been able to hear the echo of a timid response, much smaller than that was expected, and ultimately more useful assertions that large final whose doors are closed large dark adventures on numb.
The time is impassive and we must learn to dance. Even false. The truth is incalculable. The reality is that we allow the tyrant or that we are fighting. Except what is negotiable. What is childish: we must not lose sight that children are formidable negotiators.
The state of mind. Perhaps wary of furniture that you begin to look friendly. Ideas too malnourished and sometimes on their bellies into flagging of seriousness, if their skulls where the little gold fears awkwardly turning into lead.
forward, yes, knowing that we will, in part insoluble behind this escapes us. So we glean what falls from the stars, which falls from the books, which fall from the hearts and souls, words when the mouths are closed, any thought that we were not expected to happen and we still waiting when we disappear, just a little more drunk, breathed a little better, a little more distilled, and even, as it happens, a little more experienced. Although in most cases, barely noticing.
The condition of the heart. We understood that too much sugar, too much marshmallow syrup too interfered with its operation. It is not, of course, medical advice. Is that the soft grass should have a slightly bitter taste. It's the most beautiful night of the world should have a little hazy side. That we play hide and seek with boredom. It takes you a drink, and then two. We actually see him through the mill. Of all the blackness. Of all the hot flashes and breathless. He will be the first signal of the meeting with exhaustion. Because it does not reflect a heart. It is reflected, if it is done well, that's all. And it should be enough. Loving
yes. As much as we can. Being on that side of things. Armed as needed. Offered for what it is. Wrong is wrong because. Serious player and it was bad enough to go from earth to heaven on a drawing chalk on a sidewalk path. Before the downpour. Do not disillusioned but sell them at the heart of the diamond. Love of principle and deduce the chaff. This is the hardest to say. Can we believe failing to grasp. The decorations diluted or appropriately arranged. Ideally sided. Passion recited. Carefully and all monuments visited.
And laugh if it all, it is rumored, would be ultimately a mistake. Some say, more kindly, a combination of circumstances. At the stage where we are, what would we be held accountable? Is there a league of convenience? A hierarchy of complicity? I mean once you are done, and, where appropriate, that history is past. If only one is mounted on the train. Do we learn our lessons?
consciousness. Yes. The only conquest that avoids having to hope from above and from which they can flourish where we are. Subject ageless. Born on the entire available, traveled and traveled. Who can do that we have already lived the future and we discover the past. Whereby it is the hardest, most complicated, to push forward his curiosity to be free. This
otherwise aging led in too many cases become so poor and obscure.
consciousness. I'd do it only recovers to open his throat painfully.
What is aging like what unravels. But even at twenty one is no longer a child. Already one child has had to learn to walk, talk, to dream the impossible by focusing on all that air to hold the tightrope walking because it's better if there somewhere the marker, the solid. Something on which to build. Already present or imaginary yet. Suffice it to know when we have been able to get rid of it determine its own needs, its own desires. That desire may have taken place.
What is aging like whether to accept the wear being what it eats, while the first form.
Time is a poem. This is not to reduce it. That release.
If I want, whenever I want, I take the stairs going up to the log path to the wooded ridge road to college. And it's also true that when I'd rather go down in the morning along the Bassin de la Villette to catch the subway instead of turning into the street leading to the nearest station. Will be sum of all that was and all that will be, not as a user of a methodical isolated moment that slips between a past that is still full mystery and a future that begins in just a minute.
What makes age as some fears. Coldness. Indifference frantic. As if a wall was a wall. As if a war was a war. As if he had never lost anything. As if he had to become strong and wise. And bow to fatigue issues remained silent, mostly because we have not been able to hear the echo of a timid response, much smaller than that was expected, and ultimately more useful assertions that large final whose doors are closed large dark adventures on numb.
The time is impassive and we must learn to dance. Even false. The truth is incalculable. The reality is that we allow the tyrant or that we are fighting. Except what is negotiable. What is childish: we must not lose sight that children are formidable negotiators.
The state of mind. Perhaps wary of furniture that you begin to look friendly. Ideas too malnourished and sometimes on their bellies into flagging of seriousness, if their skulls where the little gold fears awkwardly turning into lead.
forward, yes, knowing that we will, in part insoluble behind this escapes us. So we glean what falls from the stars, which falls from the books, which fall from the hearts and souls, words when the mouths are closed, any thought that we were not expected to happen and we still waiting when we disappear, just a little more drunk, breathed a little better, a little more distilled, and even, as it happens, a little more experienced. Although in most cases, barely noticing.
The condition of the heart. We understood that too much sugar, too much marshmallow syrup too interfered with its operation. It is not, of course, medical advice. Is that the soft grass should have a slightly bitter taste. It's the most beautiful night of the world should have a little hazy side. That we play hide and seek with boredom. It takes you a drink, and then two. We actually see him through the mill. Of all the blackness. Of all the hot flashes and breathless. He will be the first signal of the meeting with exhaustion. Because it does not reflect a heart. It is reflected, if it is done well, that's all. And it should be enough. Loving
yes. As much as we can. Being on that side of things. Armed as needed. Offered for what it is. Wrong is wrong because. Serious player and it was bad enough to go from earth to heaven on a drawing chalk on a sidewalk path. Before the downpour. Do not disillusioned but sell them at the heart of the diamond. Love of principle and deduce the chaff. This is the hardest to say. Can we believe failing to grasp. The decorations diluted or appropriately arranged. Ideally sided. Passion recited. Carefully and all monuments visited.
And laugh if it all, it is rumored, would be ultimately a mistake. Some say, more kindly, a combination of circumstances. At the stage where we are, what would we be held accountable? Is there a league of convenience? A hierarchy of complicity? I mean once you are done, and, where appropriate, that history is past. If only one is mounted on the train. Do we learn our lessons?
consciousness. Yes. The only conquest that avoids having to hope from above and from which they can flourish where we are. Subject ageless. Born on the entire available, traveled and traveled. Who can do that we have already lived the future and we discover the past. Whereby it is the hardest, most complicated, to push forward his curiosity to be free. This
otherwise aging led in too many cases become so poor and obscure.
consciousness. I'd do it only recovers to open his throat painfully.
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