alykat
So we trace those contours, make it pop, steal the scene. So that when we cry, the whole world knows, and we'll just deny. For the drama.
The luck is in the hands of a clover.
Everything comes into play. The solitaries of the day, sings at the top of their lungs, and together they are one.
Everyday I dream of food that would never reach my mouth, of those dresses I would never wear, the places I would not get to see, and all those I can not do. How does it feel to be luxurious?