To Call it Loss
and perhaps you'll never make it here, crossing the heights of social-standing that stacked like hills.
and perhaps you'll never make it here, crossing the heights of social-standing that stacked like hills.

now she’s walking naked as her fleece stuck on a tree-trunk while she wandered her cold barefoot stepped on the damp twigs; shatter a piece of dry leaves she kept struggling even when her body freezing the whole memory gave her no favor unless a tremendous breaking order on the other hand, The Good Shepherd […]
