the glow. fierce. the tired eyes marching forward, the sky laughing back with glee. only the fortunate ones. only the fortunate ones.
the dialect transformed, like a rainbow in the sun, making the potions grow stronger than the forest winds can understand. i only seek the truth he said, his head bowed down with mourning. she awoke and looked at him saying more than she could remember, she was only a girl, not yet ready to speak the volumes of guilt that portrayed her hair in such a negative shade.
Like air in the world like mace in the eyes I wish to speak to Bartholomew and run right for the train. I kiss all the dogs and wish that I wish not in vain.
you get the mirror and the door. I get the post office and the set get the mirror and the door i get all the way off the floor. You get the mirror and the door.