How To Play The Sims 3 Without Cd

Silhouettes (Part V)

Separation of the sun and moon - a constant. Hanging over the heart of the dominant era of the meetings. Wear domes waiting for the soul. Every evening gently Letters strangling hands. P-a-s-l-y-to-a. Bottled soft sounds in the word. So soon as the sun beamed into the sea. Separation pulls the thread of wool, sheep graze in the field of heart. Assume that they hurt, but a little easier to become a sleepless night. Firmly snap the handcuffs. In the absence of you I feel your hands, what was going mad. On horizon plane flashes, he flies away, flies away. Where I can not be. Can not be .. but I am. On a chair on the bed, in the end, on the ball. Yes, Picasso in the next impact creative inimitably portrayed balance. Derw bet such an alliance of body and soul in separation is impossible. In Paris, Proust hundred years ago, all in a tremble, trying to also destroy the separation. Effectively happened: seven books, which, instead of destroy, immortalized it in the paper-bound. Circulation of it (separation) around the world published annually, a hundred years later - in my opinion, cruel. Now I breeze through the windows imposes new motives, touching. I wish the train to sit down and cross it wheels. How timely ... I thought of Anna Karenina. She killed a distance. At one point, a jump and everything. And far: some Vronsky - limit dreams, unfulfilled expectations, carried out the end. The limit of separation is. The constant killing death. Or love, but rarely. Rarely finds the courage to be those who did not want to. Part of the ego. Merge with the sky, slamming the door, run through the snow. Forget contempt opposing views, to live as it would not be necessary. How difficult is to remain the sea, calm, patient, persistent. I remember as a teacher of translation inspired me to think that everything comes from God. That life - in humility. That I am a child. I do not understand her words. I do not agree so far. Life is a creation of God, and mine. A childhood is really all gone. I so miss the bun May and sour cream. Kindergarten: "Grandma, take me, please, after lunch ...." My sister would leave the morning of the fence, climb, go on a pack of children run to meet: "Why am I here, why all these children?". I found it hard to watch people pass by, I thought, easy for them, in freedom ... Now I walk along the school of thinking how happy they are crazy .. eat pudding, drink tea, then play and sleep. At lunch a delicious pie and mom was right there, up .. good day. Good day - down with the constant. Down hanging over the heart of the dominant era of the meetings. Clear all domes and burn all the letters. P-a-s-l-y-to-a. Bottled soft sounds in the word. So soon as the sun beamed into the sea.