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■ The oak
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The first page not talking to me amazes me.
white and without you, it trembles under my skin admiring me, stringing me, unraveling me in thousands and millions of unstuck senses from your soul on my heart. I didn`t see you falling in my palm and the leave`s achievement at the customs hurt me why does it pass with out a charge? She answered that it`s just a phase, she`ll pay later, on the street. So i passed her along with me at the customs. I payed so dearly your eyes towards me anyway: They have stucked me on the dark blackboard just a heart, alone, abandoned. An then , dry, on the street she was paying the charge. The last page it`s written with you, you, you. Me, me, me, you , you, you. My last word. You.
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