“Remember blooming violets, with our words” there will never, ever, ever “. I would tell you the same things now, but how soon, fans love to dry the roses. So for us, the love that rips the hair is lost now, all that remains is some listless caress and tenderness. And when you are in your hand, those flowers wilted in the Sun of a April back in, rimpiangerai them. But it will be the first you meet on the street you would cover in gold, for a kiss ever given to a new love. It will be the first you meet on the street, you would cover gold for a kiss ever given, for a new love. “
