French

The cartridge, half empty in capacity, would elongate the desire to negate a burrowing sensation of your oddly pretentious inclination to parry your pars and bare your scars. The only disadvantage glistens from your outlandish presence, insulting compliments pushing deeper than others because its not what she says, its that fact that she says it. From under the rock, I can tell you the light shimmers in the distance, my pretense is fearless and instantly you’re oblivious to a point that is never made. Hindering the contextual understanding because you are just oh so demanding in your vivacious demeanor, in flame to butt your satisfaction is impossible to gauge. Trying to relax I’m obsessed but fundamentally unimpressed, I’m only fifty percentage liable for my actions, of course. You must know the recourse for such subjects, in my mind is complex; I’ll never say the right thing.

I’ve pulled up, passenger seat, me and the driver are greeted with an existential conundrum. Quicker, lighter and special like other, look at me, I’m not messing. Shes a goddess likely to be breaking hearts all day long, but she would never, how could she? Angelic, I look on emphatically, proceeding a politically-loving instigation but slow allocation to the commissioning connection between interaction and endless reactions stunts our progression.  There is a masterful deceit in the entire calibration, relating to the duration of alleviated flirtation from months too longs admiration. In my own reflection its what my desire desires most, understandably, it seems never their contemplation of another, scarcely even considering their estimated self.

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