It was just after ten and my disease continued to rise in intensity. I did not know that seek remedies to the fever that was killing me. The real problem was the thermometer. He contradicted me every time. I could not understand why the forces were slowly leaving me. I had no stimulation. No positive image could ease my pain
It was just after ten, but it seemed that the ten had never arrived. Time he stood before me, and would not go away, he could not march as he usually did.
The certainty I had was my illness. Too serious to be known, too simple to be treated. It was a sickness, a disease Qualle you come in and do not know more to go.
Then stay hours on the couch waiting for the ten arrived. The ten never arrived. Instead, that Giono was just after ten. Then it was time to get up and go to bed. Soon, very soon compared to my usual pace. My illness decided for me. The thermometer, that son of a bitch. But he kept telling me that I was not sick. Not even a line of fever in my body. From that day expecting
sms that arrives on my phone.
was just after ten and my disease continued to rise in intensity. They went back and forth frantically around the room. I was looking for handholds at each point of the house. I wanted to do something, and I could not find anything to give me a minimum of adrenaline to get up and scream.
My disease is called Monica, but Monica did not call me. Here's my problem. She was gone. Leaving me there, without understanding what had happened. Inactive.
I kept saying that both the beauty of that relationship was in its brevity. But I felt that something had fallen much further. Dug in, in fact I had already caved in by the smell in the bar. I had dug in to the sea, in the rain. It was that empty. That was my wounded pride. Toy for a quick masturbation stundetessa university away from home.
My illness was not addressed. It was useless. I should not go looking for it again.
It had been just ten. I was schizophrenic. I turned on the computer and I downloaded the mail.
There was still one of his mail.
Hello,
know that I misbehaved with you. Only I did not think I could miss you so much. Only I did not think so little of interest to not even receive a response. I wanted to tell you that I decided to leave my boyfriend. My relative has gone. And I really have parades in front of things like I do. And I want you.
Answer.
Beautiful, just beautiful. The e-mail after saying
Hello,
have changed plans for the "China Project", if you agree to participate in the project will necessarily have to leave for China and move to the next two years. Are you prepared to answer this?
A fuck all I thought. A fuck all cried through her tears. My illness was winning to me. I wanted a body over which to move. I left, I went to hell. I took one. I took her from me.
There was no fun make me. So it's not even finished. Pay a bit 'more, provided that immediately disappeared from my house. By now it was nearly eleven and a half. I did not want to sleep in the bed smeared with fake sex with that bitch. I did not want to sleep. Molested my cell phone. Molest my head. It was not me. It was my disease. I called.
"We need to see us, you're home?"
"Yes"
"I'm coming."
Parties. A fuck all.
It was just after ten, but it seemed that the ten had never arrived. Time he stood before me, and would not go away, he could not march as he usually did.
The certainty I had was my illness. Too serious to be known, too simple to be treated. It was a sickness, a disease Qualle you come in and do not know more to go.
Then stay hours on the couch waiting for the ten arrived. The ten never arrived. Instead, that Giono was just after ten. Then it was time to get up and go to bed. Soon, very soon compared to my usual pace. My illness decided for me. The thermometer, that son of a bitch. But he kept telling me that I was not sick. Not even a line of fever in my body. From that day expecting
sms that arrives on my phone.
was just after ten and my disease continued to rise in intensity. They went back and forth frantically around the room. I was looking for handholds at each point of the house. I wanted to do something, and I could not find anything to give me a minimum of adrenaline to get up and scream.
My disease is called Monica, but Monica did not call me. Here's my problem. She was gone. Leaving me there, without understanding what had happened. Inactive.
I kept saying that both the beauty of that relationship was in its brevity. But I felt that something had fallen much further. Dug in, in fact I had already caved in by the smell in the bar. I had dug in to the sea, in the rain. It was that empty. That was my wounded pride. Toy for a quick masturbation stundetessa university away from home.
My illness was not addressed. It was useless. I should not go looking for it again.
It had been just ten. I was schizophrenic. I turned on the computer and I downloaded the mail.
There was still one of his mail.
Hello,
know that I misbehaved with you. Only I did not think I could miss you so much. Only I did not think so little of interest to not even receive a response. I wanted to tell you that I decided to leave my boyfriend. My relative has gone. And I really have parades in front of things like I do. And I want you.
Answer.
Beautiful, just beautiful. The e-mail after saying
Hello,
have changed plans for the "China Project", if you agree to participate in the project will necessarily have to leave for China and move to the next two years. Are you prepared to answer this?
A fuck all I thought. A fuck all cried through her tears. My illness was winning to me. I wanted a body over which to move. I left, I went to hell. I took one. I took her from me.
There was no fun make me. So it's not even finished. Pay a bit 'more, provided that immediately disappeared from my house. By now it was nearly eleven and a half. I did not want to sleep in the bed smeared with fake sex with that bitch. I did not want to sleep. Molested my cell phone. Molest my head. It was not me. It was my disease. I called.
"We need to see us, you're home?"
"Yes"
"I'm coming."
Parties. A fuck all.
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