niciodatata not loved.
was just a boy. A guy I know someday, one of those who knew her better than her. A man who wrote a poem, or maybe more, but he never learned it. A guy who danced with once. Or, perhaps, in fact, he fancies. There are never allowed to have. But no one had really, because, after all, not even sure if they did not know itself, and yours. He was a boy for crying every day, though not recognize it. Eventually, he stopped crying. For everything.
I remained in my soul. He polished portrait of all those who followed after him. Maybe that's why no one was what was supposed to be. He imagined, sometimes as he thinks about it. Perhaps it was thought that his chance of happiness? Although, perhaps, barely remembers. You see everywhere, although he was not anywhere and their lives were always parallel. There he knew nothing as long ...
never ceased to love him.
