It’s like deeply drawned that I can’t think well for sure. I’m feeling, I can’t think. I’ve been blinded, deafed, but strongly smilling purely. Different with something called ‘love’ by some, it is felt as more sacratic one. Or, it may be the real thing which has been named ‘love’, that definited unclearly in any dictionaries, that was translated wisely by philosophers.
If I was now with Victor Hugo, I’d tell him I almost fully got the truth of his words, yes I would tell him, surely would; that I partly sure I am getting that happiness—that hugest happiness ever.
I was dreaming, found you there. When I was not dreaming, these were sooo fun that I can’t get rid of you out of my mind; even I am looked fool, showing off the wrong look. Yes, I am a foolish. I’m that fool. But I’m not a moron! I’m not leaving you and will never, my bestfriend, my lover, my thougt…
Wake up hey, then tell the world soon.
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