Sunday, December 25, 2016


The touch can wither, and leave farther and farther, until it gets so sick of being tied with inexplicable kidnapping. Frantic, frantic, frantic, and angry in the end she felt. She's hiding behind the white walls surrounded by the white cloud, full of memories and dreams that can not be brought away, ever, again. In this very age, for the love of life, and for Mr. Cunningham's sake, I've chosen to do what I love. So I did my tasks with what I love. It's the most important thing, even nobody agrees. To do what I love, is to be free from all this... self-kidnapping.

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