Hell in my soul
The next day, in the morning, I saw you at the nut shop, behind him with that big, glazed glass of dried nuts. You've been looking at me like you never had yesterday, I had accepted that you should be, and then, with a sharp glance of the dried fruit's son towards me with the size of the human iris and his hairy beard.
After a day's paradise, a long exile of hell had started with that scene in my poor adolescent soul. You've been acting like I'm not at all, you sometimes call your friends to entertain you and let me come down to let you kiss me licking your lips then let me kiss now you're just blowing out my face and mailing me.
Every evening on my bike, I would check to see if you walked out on the 4th floor in front of the balcony, sometimes I would pick up the phone and I could hear the voice dialing. Again, I was really loved until the torture of me, I could no longer sit on my desk in the months of anguish, what I used to plunge past prunes, fish, fries, playing the arcade I enjoyed.
Then you went to fly over time, the first eye pain to teach me to forget my way to embarrass you. A few years ago when I went to town to visit ours, I met you in the neighborhood market. One of them was in the womb of a man in a pram.
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