Our desperate emotions seek solitude, they wish for death every time the moon shines above us, they hope endlessly for an early winter.
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This particular attachment seems unaware that your eyes look blindly in another direction, perhaps in no direction, for my conscience was taken by you so long ago.
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What comes tommorrow? Why incinerate all hope, all memory of spring? Why permit ourselves to act so selfishly? When the only thing we need is... eachother.
We have it all in our grasp, there's no point in waiting.
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