To elude the break, lasting from day to evening, is the breath of hardness. Now, we remember nothing. The stagnant taste of discourse, denies our surface forgotten, time slips, and old age creeps like the withering bask of thorns that sits near your fence before the house.
Reason for writing:
I wrote it because I didn't want to graduate this year as much as I say I hate it.
Birth sign: Not entered
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