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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2004-09-29 | |
She used to put the both glasses
on the little round table and wait for someone to come. You was the one, always late. Experiencing her force and fighting the hungry seconds and sorrow, she always hoped that love would be a splendid tomorrow. Actually flowers were smiling except their worry about these games of transparence. Glass feelings, too much space and dust and resumption
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