At the moment we can still touch him. This body always made his heart hurt. I don't know how the wounds of our soldier. But he never reply to scratch it. I don't know how the grain of tears that she drops. But he never reply to droplets that. A bag of blood spatter, a handful of hope. However fraught with uncertainty. She still persisted. how stupid of gita can never see the level of compassion and pengorbadan which he gave with a sincere, selfless to us. She gave birth to us with pain , He mrnahan pain when we're carrying our a day. he never complained, Despite the cries of the naughty from the lips of the us, which has always been the rhythm of the conductor in his sleep. or has it lost us want to hurt her... we still laugh at his misery...
