bottled Charter
I wish you could read me in this beautiful night. The moon has been there all the time, first yellow, skimming past the tallest buildings in the background. Almost falling on our heads, then has raised solemn, high and white, to look for enciam. While you were in tears and could not read me. While a voice on the other side of the phone, a calm voice, familiar, told me where you were.
Snails never gave us fear. Now they sound as hard as Alcatraz and Azkaban. Now away and terrible sound. Places of solitude.
Would, say, could read me to feel I'll help. Something like, selfish, a necessity. From tomorrow I will tell you things are not going to read. You see what fun. Life is all a waste of detail. Like when you had a camera in a can of soda. You had to know how to look. You'll see what spring does out here, though you can not see it. I assure you, descriptions and a couple of pictures. Odors will not let me put in this device, but with a wealth try near him but not useless.
Hopefully, I no longer know who to write, could read me to serve you something. Would give you strength and motivation, I did not know.
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