And it's like when we see old photographs and missed time and trampled. And when we are alone, then we ask: who hid those moments?. And we are happier in a strange situation, but we extremely happy. Pass happy, smiling as the rays of the sun in winter that captivate us to close our eyes and think of the mind as a blank. Life is better without ink even for a few seconds, wanting to live in Last keeping the same mind that it is instantly gone, that past is never forgotten because the past is like the ballots. The store until we have a lot of them, together to see if one day we will serve, and inadvertently Sometimes looking at other things we run into them, read them, just to remind us of the times.
The closet in my grandmother brought me a series of winters.
The closet in my grandmother brought me a series of winters.
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