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  • Writer
    Writer Moster
    Writer Moster
    " I don't anything to be proud of, but I feel high before them when I write " .
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Love and killer
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A quiet night, I just listened to the sound of the rain. My eyes stared out through the glass of my bedroom window, I did not understand what I was doing when I obeyed my conscience that I did.

I took a deep breath, the atmosphere this night really made me nervous. I wrote something with my finger on the dew carried by the rain in the glass of my bedroom window, I don't know it just happened About the memory that always comes when it rains.

It all started when he chose to end the relationship that we had built together for two years. Laughter and bitterness adorned our day at that time, but for some reason I never felt afraid and always trusted him. Until everything that never becomes my fear turns into cruel anxiety.

I was killed by him, the pain that made me die in his hands. He succeeded, making me unable to explain how I was after he had taken a choice I had never expected before.

The mistake that I can't forgive from myself is to always love you, even now when you have taken care of your heart then kill it for no reason.

You never thought of saying goodbye to me, of course a simple greeting would come out of my mouth. You go without reason and I don't ask you to explain everything you think.

The wound was more full of my heart and my best days, if everyone looked at the twilight in the evening it was orange I could not even see whether it was orange in the evening?.

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