Your own sympathy is a possession, as if we don't look out for better or worse. How we don't change what gave us an obsession. Book our stories the way we curse strange detail into little parts. We're merely time just like how our hearts rhyme pain, immerse our imagination, sublime, our minds will never show when we're the same, you're my glass frame.
You can fight what you have won before you realize the idea of how other people question what they believe in could take your answer over determination, it's half of your balance and it will make you find a place where others are reasoning value, but one who couldn't find the aspect of every persons life where were all about change before it's gone. Will you settle with difference or what makes others feel distant or would you show vexation because you couldn't believe in your world the way we conquer every emotion but have every reason to show a person for what makes us substantial. It's all about reliability.
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