There are so many things I'm going to tell you. If I don't tell you, I can't breathe again, I won't laugh, I can't live.
I'm talking about a woman. Maybe a man or a guy. There will be people in my story who will stand in the back and think how to stab me.
You know, they always exist. These lines remain as a place to start without a title.
The times were dark when the clouds were dark.
It's September. Names from September.
Very old woman. Maybe even the smell is outdated. Tired tired
But her shoulders are still upright still she can raise her chin gently in the sky
Although I'm here with a low voice
He learned that the old woman, who no longer wants to hear him, even in silence when he can hear
Maybe she doesn't want to. Someone will come and tell her instead, her past, her present, her present. Someone should read or be bound in a library, a real dream as a dream phrases
Leave a moment to the future. To his next family. And I'm going to write.
I'il tell you, I will. I will do. Who am I?
I'm the other half of September, maybe the rest.
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