My mom killed my dad, then the veins were cut.
The cause is obvious, at least for me: love in its purest grade.
It was in love madly and was not going to allow the cancer to take it first to him.
The love is like that; dependence and fidelity.
A person who loves and is independent, does not love.
Something is confusing it.
The love is a curse for the one that we all spend one day.
Loving wars are done, it kills itself and goes over to the madness.
Unfortunately I think that the love brings more sorrows than pleasures.
It is clear that also gives happiness, but it is so short that it is better not to fall in love.
I believe that all of us have been very happy with the love one day and also I believe that we all have been very unhappy often.
The love offers one this suspense, this insecurity.
Because this is the price.
The love is a species of madness or illness. A psychosis.
March 2016
100% GOOD (1 votes) 