I just dug my own grave. I went scooping around and took a stroll down the memory lane. I stabbed myself once again. I don't want to be solus. As I know I will wonder back time again. Spasm of my brains. I am conscious that it is best if I mislay the silhouette. But I am still reverie.
Buoyant. I need to carry. And search. For the genuine buoyant. Viable?
Nichole
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