Speaking of books I feel I have a million masterpieces to read at this moment. I have the new stories and some old novels I would like to read. One of my favourite piece is Bram Stoker's Dracula which I want to read regularly again and again and which would be better time to see Mr. Dracula than gloomy autumn night? To my own suprise in my bookcase is a hole and I need to run through the city to replace it. Stories are the perfect way disappear for a while and forget daily life except I don't need always finished stories; my mind seems to create them itself. Last few days I have been floating in my own escapistic world dreaming of a wooden old house and cats.. but unfortunately the reality always wakes me up back to real life.
'Let me love you too
Let me love you to death
To death
Am I good enough,
for you?
Am I...for you?
Am I good enough.
for you?'
Let me love you to death
To death
Am I good enough,
for you?
Am I...for you?
Am I good enough.
for you?'
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