Crushnier

To be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it's, besides, my friends, to be sureBeing in love, friends, is to find the right name to life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sureTo be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sureTo be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it's, besides, my friends, to be sureBeing in love, friends, is to find the right name to life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sureTo be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sureTo be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sureTo be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sureTo be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sure of having clean hands.To be in love, friends, is to find the right name for life. It is to give an end to the words that to face death one needs. It is to recover the hidden key that opens the prison where the soul is held captive.. It's rising from the ground with a force that claims from above. It's breathing the broad wind that breathes above the flesh. It's about looking at the cause of the injury from the top of the person.. It's to see in some eyes a true look that looks at us. It's hearing in one mouth one's own voice deeply repeated. It's surprising in a few hands that warmth of perfect company. It is to suspect that, forever, the loneliness of our shadow is vanquished.. To be in love, friends, is to discover where body and soul meet. It's to hear in the desert the crystal clear voice of a river calling to us. It's looking at the sea from the tower where our childhood has been imprisoned.. It's resting sad eyes on a landscape of storks and bells. It's occupying a territory where perfume and weapons coexist.. It is to give the law to each rose and at the same time receive it from his sword.. It's confusing feeling with a bonfire that rises from the chest. It is to rule the light of fire and at the same time be a slave to the flame.. It's understanding the thoughtful conversation of the heart and the distance. It's finding the path that leads to the realm of music without a rate.. To be in love, friends, is to own the nights and the days. It's forgetting between the excited fingers the distracted head. It's like remembering Garcilazo when you hear the song of a blacksmith. It's reading what the first swallows write in space.. It's like watching the evening star from a peasant's window.. It's watching a train go by the mountain with the lights on.. It's understanding perfectly that there are no boundaries between sleep and wakefulness.. It's ignoring the difference between grief and joy.. It's listening to the midnight vagrant confession of the downpour. It's seeing in the darkness of the heart a little light. To be in love, friends, is to suffer space and time with sweetness. It's waking up one morning with the secret of flowers and fruit.. It is to be free of oneself and to be united with other creatures.. It's not knowing if they're someone else's or your own.. It is to trace back to the source the murky waters of the torrent of anguish. It's sharing the light of the world and at the same time sharing its dark night.. It's to marvel and rejoice that the moon is still moon. It's proving in body and soul that the task of being a man is less difficult.. It's starting to say always, and from now on never again.. And it is, moreover, my friends, to be sure of having clean hands.

Hello I am crush a 18 year old boy who wants to experiment and know new things give me to be part of your new tastes I love how much we have good coordination and a good time I am young so treat me nice that I still need to learn many more things