However, the number of individuals that I said "I love is inversely proportional to the amount of times I have felt. I promise that no bad faith, but I've always been given to anticipate events and, of course, while releasing the happy little phrase, myself I realized that he still that came very large category love.
The thing seems to be changing. I get older and notice. Noto and misleading the lyricism that accompanies the feeling. Tragically, once put me now gives me creeps , and drama, I choose to relativize the maximum. The last may no longer be the best, if not the most comfortable I come. And when it disappears, either because they are tired, either because it sufientes me awake, I am not even a hint of disappointment, and my eyes permacen impassive indifference dry. So cold
made me the disappointment? So outside the affection?, I wonder sometimes. I do not recognize. I was a romantic, now I see myself as a skeptical who prefers to live after a trench safely. To order, comfort, no pictures of passion and torment them take me to the chaos elemental.
There are times, however, that in the solitude of the night, icy, caressing the side of the bed and showed him an imaginary lover made I measure the true synapses that hides under my skin layers that thousands had to set T to force.
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