The lie of a month later, his word gets out,
starting with simple exchanges of common phrases, but ending with a probable mistake.
The blood is what caused this intellectual technology, and the blood is what will make it a regret.
Only the lack of common sense wouldn't see this chemical imbalance.
He knew.
I knew.
What was to come.
Only the relationship, the five, with a block, a stop, a skipped one hour heartbeat.
It'll come eventually, but what?
The mistakes will echo through all five plus one, where then, I'll be left with nothing. There's no room for them here.
But when you want it so bad, it won't matter.
I know now what I know I'll forget then.
He was never that sparkle, but always that seizure, and what to do about the experimental greaser?!
There's no dilemma here, but merely bleeding.
She knows the crisis, and she loves me, and she hates me for it.
She'll make me bleed.
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RAWchelle
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