domingo, 20 de diciembre de 2009

words act like guns, too bad i'm out of bullets.



"Poca hambre y todos quietos.
Que huele a apetito y sólo hay pistola para cenar."

I just stared at the floor while he kept speaking.
All I could think is that the decisions you didn't make are the steps to the plentiful happiness you aborted.

Conclusions are always fashionably late.

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