''smiles are fake and boredom is in bloom, hands start trembling when it comes to uncovering the illusionary bed of sorrows. everybody seems distant, she is distracted and he is missing. feelings dragging her down, amidst time`s most pleasant duties: memories. they fall like red curtains , softly touching her inner strength, weakening her defenses; tears would come out of sore eyes, but they will doubtfully blind her judegement, therefore she restrains from being human'' by ramobtr ''the only fertile debut in life it`s the hooliganic experience '' Mircea Eliade
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