ok, im sorry, but this isnt what i normally write, i wanted to try something different... im sorry if its lame..
I woke to same sound, as every morning. The cries, of a exhusted child always did. I had thought for a moment we had a routine going on but anda know children, but its jsut doesnt happen. It's if as though they are engineered to keep anda up late, have a colourful shoulders and bags under your eyes, Well my baby did.
I was young, and so was she. We had that in common. Thats all we had, She was the spitting image of him. He makes it hard to cinta her sometimes.Which makes me hate him...
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