Just like a branch onto which another shoot is grafted
I am not the same as you, but also not different.Mosquitoes love the light, but die when they approach it
So,for us,hope is the greatest cause of our misfortune.Light betrays itself by its own nature from the very startLove is a slippery thing: the lover stands in expectation of his end...
Only in the completed circle the compass rest.
So my love endures and burn without end...
