That Day On The Beach

I felt very real. Rain, leaves, romantic entertainment (but passionate or superficial? I didn’t feel joy. I felt I was 22 years old. Between South Africans and Johannesburg people who hate foreigners. Live in. Feel the winter. Approaching). And there was a kiss. Something in me died (I always felt a series of deaths after writing, and I froze). However, there was still something missing. Then I woke up. How can I put it into words? There is no effect on the astral level. If you think your wish is simple, you lose everything. No, it’s much more complicated than that. It’s so complicated that North American scientists are studying it. Recently, my dreams have left me depressed. The illness had recurred. There were signs. A gay man with beautiful eyes and sensitive hands passes by me. I wanted to find on the page the confidence I saw in his arrogance. I thought it could explain everything, especially what I dreamed of. I needed to know why romance was like a beacon to me. I always swam away, backed up and sank. Why was I never fixed?
I was scared. Could not define time or place. Where am I? I felt like I was taken to another dimension. Maybe a bright dream can do that, right? This guy in my dreams, well, he reminds me of someone I knew long ago. The teacher I fell in love with. I’m in love like crazy. It has been my world for almost two years, even without naive and sexual experience. It was an investment. He was a mission. Later he will be the love of my life. However, fear came with a dream. Dreams are not reality, and I was happy in them. I was unaware of the hidden dangers I encountered when I woke up. Visit:-

When you experience reality. When I say happiness, I mean I wasn’t afraid of anything real or imaginary. Not afraid of hypomanic psychosis, anxiety, and physical tremors associated with hallucinogenic images. There was no darkness. In my dreams, I no longer had the experience of suffering or depression, or the intense attraction of madness and the grace of escaping cautiously. Beware of suicide. There was no land at night. There were only ordinary people. Ordinary people fall in love, fall in love, talk, talk about love.

I dream of all these things. What did my subconscious mean for a self-conscious actor? What do you need to distinguish? What should I do in my life other than writing? I set my writing ritual aside, use the kitchen as a remedy, enter the world, have a husband, have children, walk the yellow brick trails, the sun trails, happiness too much commitment Should be accepted as necessary. .. I have a lot of energy and time, but do it anyway. Do this brilliantly. Do it in a good way.

Do it wisely. Let’s make it easier. If you could easily bake a chocolate chiffon cake, wouldn’t it be just as easy to raise a child? I may not be a good wife for everyone if I can make great lasagna and bolognese according to my sister’s handwritten instructions, but that means I have to be honest. That means I had to be cross-examined as a kid about how my mother touched me. The bath we take together. She always keeps the door open. Call while her father is sleeping and ask her to wash her back. She doesn’t want to remember. I’m scared every time someone touches me.
Don’t go there. I don’t want to think. Please. Please.

Thank you. But she didn’t understand. Educated. worship. Very liked. Thank you very much. How can she expect to understand the disability of sexual abuse? The spirit and mind of a vulnerable child, raised daily in an abusive environment, is slowly programmed to live with denial and pain. Obvious rape when she couldn’t see my world, its violent violence. A world of devastation and laziness. I thought my dad knew. I thought so. As a result, I had a disability in my childhood. We thought we were protected and protected from hard children. Then I got smarter. Instead, I wanted to be like my mother when I was growing up, but I wasn’t as graceful and beautiful as my mother. I never have. I failed him. I failed both of his parents in this regard.

From skin to skin, like cloth, like sleep, like water in the wild. I don’t have to show me that you like me, I need you tell me that. Meet this beloved lover, who needs it, to remember her grandmother, who is dehydrated with arthritis, like breath, like self-pity, like broken air. We know that we will never be together forever. There is a scary part

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *