I often whimper: Have anybody understood just a bit my being ? Did the ones I loved understood at least at the minimum my soul? Well, soon I tease myself : Oh you evergreen little adolescent in me !
Everyone understands just what he feels , his projection on you or even your projection on him . So even me, that exactly is what I understood from the ones I loved , just what I sensed from them. I am really grateful first and foremost about it. About the fact that I really felt someone and his something. Everything else is just fairy tales . Even memories . When you love, you wish to feel again, you hope that you will have again the same feelings. If this becomes impossible , hope or love are pointless anymore.
THOUGHT 2
Do not ever push a person loyal to you to the point where he does not give a damn anymore ... You ruin his soul, but thou lose a great gift which was given to you. Respect your good "luck", because ingratitude against this offering is first of all a destruction against yourself.
A small round zero becomes something specific
when it is described with love by a pen.
A rough diamond in the mud waits for its finder to become glittering after hauling from the bottom of its hiding place and his beneficial carving.
Everyone understands just what he feels , his projection on you or even your projection on him . So even me, that exactly is what I understood from the ones I loved , just what I sensed from them. I am really grateful first and foremost about it. About the fact that I really felt someone and his something. Everything else is just fairy tales . Even memories . When you love, you wish to feel again, you hope that you will have again the same feelings. If this becomes impossible , hope or love are pointless anymore.
THOUGHT 2
Do not ever push a person loyal to you to the point where he does not give a damn anymore ... You ruin his soul, but thou lose a great gift which was given to you. Respect your good "luck", because ingratitude against this offering is first of all a destruction against yourself.
THOUGHT 3
A small round zero becomes something specific
when it is described with love by a pen.
A rough diamond in the mud waits for its finder to become glittering after hauling from the bottom of its hiding place and his beneficial carving.

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