ok, im sorry, but this isnt what i normally write, i wanted to try something different... im sorry if its lame..
I woke to same sound, as every morning. The cries, of a exhusted child always did. I had thought for a moment we had a routine going on but あなた know children, but its jsut doesnt happen. It's if as though they are engineered to keep あなた up late, have a colourful shoulders and bags under your eyes, Well my baby did.
I was young, and so was she. We had that in common. Thats all we had, She was the spitting image of him. He makes it hard to 愛 her sometimes.Which makes me hate him...
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