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TAG Tags: love love love miss lonely fate SMS
( Editor : sammy)
fate of each individual is different from each other length of time there , only the dedication to do it , I can do is: I will let my love with you slowly grow old .

met you ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], is the fate ; like you, is our fate ; fell in love with you, is my last resort ; miss you,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I have no alternative . I will love with you. I love you!

Whether you when, where you are,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], whatever you do ; please remember: I will always support you all the time do not care about you, because you are my favorite people.

long night, listening to the car to drive to the city , a wandering lonely heart thinking of you , I do not know if you know the distance ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], you will always be my favorite! !

love you have pain. Love is a sweet , pain is a kind of helpless. For your love and pain together , and what is - love! There is love there is pain - I'm willing .

a moon one of you, two shadow you and I , ve been looking forward to meet you, the four beauties than you!

not because of loneliness just like you, but I hope you can alone. Lonely feel so heavy, just because I think you want to get too deep .

Weather : a little bit tonight to think of you tomorrow morning ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], is expected to continue into the afternoon to you, by this low mood of the evening will be converted into large storms like , and I feel five degrees lower , such weather is expected to continue To see you so far .

with you, I more of a friendship; I'm more of a pleasure ; I was a little more thinking about ; I'm more of a feeling ; because I love you!

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.