I repeat, is not it?

story (or simply a letter was never sent) about a bad boy lost priceless !!!

There are different ways to love and be loved, but what he can bring you happy you called it?

Or is it too fragile and ambiguous …
We come together in a game and love each other in a virtual world …
Something vague feeling that he was never less appreciate it …
two years what a 17-year-old boy as he done for me is nothing but sobbing tears, the long day waiting and waiting, but the bitterness which a daughter never merited .. then away he is a right way is not it?

Too late, too late to know the feeling of happiness is how to love someone and be loved one.
Now, after the string on empty. He realizes that everything about you is half of my life, it was too late.

These sequences are the days and the coldest days of his term, he rose again to close off the past as the dark room door again.

Fragments of memories out bit by bit, little by little.
Last place where we met in Saigon when I was a little girl from Family distant future
A slap, a delicious cup of coffee, a lovely SM
All around him are always out of
you passionate fragrance
room somewhere thick with shadows.
But my dear,
Remember what it was?

What is past is past forever, forever the truth truth. And whether whatever those things are all said to him: I!

He is a bad guy! A bad guy and what you miserable for me (really like), what you stand for him. Not good for a girl when a guy like him can not stand what they have endured because of him.

I’m sorry (though he is not really worth Add me to accept the apology). But he really does: Please loi.Ve everything, everything that you have endured.

Was late when the child is a better person then I realized he was that the difference between sophistication: take a hand, and take a soul is like (my children’s poignant).

few century England, and remained so when what I wanted to write “for for you “just about you baby. I never felt the feeling I have I ears (I think probably not.) Yeah, I never thought a girl from the distant future Family will be managed like any family, to everything .. when this arrived in Saigon just to see a heartless guy. Many things that children suffer is not it me it? The string is the string on through endless days: 3 months, 4 or 7 months then I it? I do not have the concept of time. But the endless chain of days that are online only once in my blog just to quietly read what is readable. Just to throw broken glass and glaze of tears when I think about another person. Just to laugh a little when you comment with friends, just blast tears when you are sad or poignant questions.

He laughed a lot in those days (but probably never is called happy hour). He smiled with life around him even when he closed the door again is something that is not the words of yesterday.

So what is so called not you regret it?
When the smoke all around him overwhelmed and white ashes drug
da nostalgia as you kill more and more pain, then he slipped in sin!
Too late and not worth.
I’m not worthy! Not much to be forgiven, be concerned after what he caused.

But (but perhaps should not) if possible (though never) – when I read the this line (it can not be romantic or feel as you want) then I would be one thing: See you again!

is not it?
No hook, no … torment. Just a look at it, a look only for me!
Is not it?

P / s: if there is a miracle and can not become what he or she can should also not to (probably better). So, I’m sorry … whether there be brazen or ignoble how he is going to say … say in everything he has been:

I … do from where the end … .. no children. I love you, really love you (which he never said so little of my heart fibrillation, but this is really from the ends of his people). Not sure he can do anything, but if time could return or be returned to that, he will do … do it all … just to not make mistakes like he did.

I … re are not you?
going off the past, the pain turned

going off,
Please know you …!
I wrote these lines in the dark
under the white smoke

Coming home in the sadness and nostalgia they are changed by the sound of rain the first raindrops in February.

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