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■ The oak
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I have converted
from mistress to friend or from friend to mistress. You were smiling to me in a hundred nights and in a thousand stories. I was writing your self in a thousand words and in one direction: me. Who loves you more than I do, my skin, my emotions? Do we speak the same whispers? Do we sing the same gestures, in rituals of worshipping and needing? Do we hit against the same useless walls? Didn`t you know you`re my religion? Won`t you too convert you self to me ? It isn`t a bargain what i`m asking. It`s just a matter of life and death.
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