RED. LYNCH. THEREISSOMETHING…
…strange. Why are there hair-straws that are not mine in the toilet sink? They grow UP from the sink. They are RED. So this picture tells the whole grim-some tale of this like a 1023 page book by The Messenger might be able to. But I have beat him this time. But remember that THE MESSENGER is YOU, yeah, YOU.
To make me a shield for a month or so I leave here with a MELANCHOLIC pic (remember the humorous tone here that isn’t here ’or?’).
Remember Mercy. Love. Skin touching skin. The possibility of it! When you realise that the person sitting beside you just looked in your eyes and said something that truly made a mark in you. And he or she asked to see you again. Some of us carry hearts of stone. That look in your eyes made a little crack. Our life’s aren’t over. We can love again. People has travelled oceans of time just to see his love again. Elisabeta. Mina. The princess is a river.. Please, give me peace.
Lykke, Lynch.. please me now as I enter the boat out to the sea of sleep, where everyone is Innocent..
At least for a short while, My Dear Friend.