Sometimes I feel like when God was painting me, she mostly painted me with a pencil of sadness, then when she saw that it was too much, she painted another color, but underneath all that color of sadness remained.
A paradox soul with a busy mind.
No matter what the story may be about, in the end, it is destined to find its way back to his hands. ᥫ᭡
I remember your eyes. Your smile. Your arms around me. I remember it all — and I wish memory could forget.
psz
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