When you close your eyes do you picture me, when you fantasize am I your fantasy?
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every one of my followers gets a little bowl of soup from the pot bubbling in the middle of my blog and a slice of bread with homemade butter on the side
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If you didn’t want to be assimilated into into my found family then you should have killed me when you had the chance
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finally get to post this guy who I am just pleased as punch about
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“These woods are where silence has come to lick its wounds.”
WALD by Roman Becker
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