Love premeditated

We met once, and my words with him was at the end time, her speech was denied meditation at a time, it was my words with the hope of temporary starts coming days from last after the word with them at that time, the coincidence was that the girl even after those days, that I met for the first time, a few days later in that beautiful place where scholars of intellectuals and non-intellectuals, and her grandmother on the eve of that day to meet the time we spoke for a second time, the day the truth began to emerge, and minds began to arise and hearts began to tremble stunned, distraught exile which I lived it before, it was her dream to be a personal intellectual like me, even though I do not like to see myself as the best of them because they simply Hzmtna determination, killed me their way of talking, I accepted an intellectual who Ayajb a lot of people, ask me about life I replied for melody song of life, so it was pink without confusion and without concern , it worries me when you see a defeated itself of human nature in which they live.

I remember the beautiful days I remember the spirit of those naughty that trust and oatmeal from toys multi-life, it was the spring preparing for the departure of the summer was coming that day, the thing that Forget Me in that girl is a recipe Allatkpr found in her mind and her heart and its existence was its ideas easy with all people, was the existential girl with a Print and Judy, after days and confident that I would not meet her again I will say that those people of the distinguishing features and long-lasting absence in order to keep the memory of the best we carry in our being human.

Her story is very similar to the story of Laila and the Wolf Vhyatea exposed too much to the story, perhaps are nocturnal and many wolves and I was not the best of these human wolves I you give it a look Me that I am not only a wolf for confident in it, and she was saying I know with those who speak means you are not a wolf but honest man to Amnafaqa, it was strikes me even in Chjaatha me, sometimes people thank us and we do not know the value of those words that were spoken to us from these people.

A few days later all the people protected me there shreds security man in that place in the exit and entry tell me: Do you come from? ..... In the same place tells me one of the policemen: Did you go? Then I realized that I had a wicked girl named manic maybe they are right to flout Great Bchksa but he was not only a man walking with his heart and was looking for safety in those vacant places of safety where I was well aware that he does not have a post to leave only Rahila and the end of the meeting was only a slap belong to my heart no more, though I tried to lie to myself words I read them poetry of the Arab novel written by famous and quoted in the paper in order to be a gift to her for Atnsana It was the verses:

Sneak my grief, do not leave the melancholy evening

I am leaving Madam

Ohraei day before your door crying

Vhve exile Ngrr me to stay

And these airports prostitute in waiting

Haunt me the last to leave ... "

"Miswak homeland, Mali

The ticket for the bullet .. love dust-colored shroud

Nothing else I have

We met once, and my words with him was at the end time, her speech was denied meditation at a time, it was my words with the hope of temporary starts coming days from last after the word with them at that time, the coincidence was that the girl even after those days, that I met for the first time, a few days later in that beautiful place where scholars of intellectuals and non-intellectuals, and her grandmother on the eve of that day to meet the time we spoke for a second time, the day the truth began to emerge, and minds began to arise and hearts began to tremble stunned, distraught exile which I lived it before, it was her dream to be a personal intellectual like me, even though I do not like to see myself as the best of them because they simply Hzmtna determination, killed me their way of talking, I accepted an intellectual who Ayajb a lot of people, ask me about life I replied for melody song of life, so it was pink without confusion and without concern , it worries me when you see a defeated itself of human nature in which they live.

I remember the beautiful days I remember the spirit of those naughty that trust and oatmeal from toys multi-life, it was the spring preparing for the departure of the summer was coming that day, the thing that Forget Me in that girl is a recipe Allatkpr found in her mind and her heart and its existence was its ideas easy with all people, was the existential girl with a Print and Judy, after days and confident that I would not meet her again I will say that those people of the distinguishing features and long-lasting absence in order to keep the memory of the best we carry in our being human.

Her story is very similar to the story of Laila and the Wolf Vhyatea exposed too much to the story, perhaps are nocturnal and many wolves and I was not the best of these human wolves I you give it a look Me that I am not only a wolf for confident in it, and she was saying I know with those who speak means you are not a wolf but honest man to Amnafaqa, it was strikes me even in Chjaatha me, sometimes people thank us and we do not know the value of those words that were spoken to us from these people.

A few days later all the people protected me there shreds security man in that place in the exit and entry tell me: Do you come from? ..... In the same place tells me one of the policemen: Did you go? Then I realized that I had a wicked girl named manic maybe they are right to flout Great Bchksa but he was not only a man walking with his heart and was looking for safety in those vacant places of safety where I was well aware that he does not have a post to leave only Rahila and the end of the meeting was only a slap belong to my heart no more, though I tried to lie to myself words I read them poetry of the Arab novel written by famous and quoted in the paper in order to be a gift to her for Atnsana It was the verses:

Sneak my grief, do not leave the melancholy evening

I am leaving Madam

Ohraei day before your door crying

Vhve exile Ngrr me to stay

And these airports prostitute in waiting

Haunt me the last to leave ... "

"Miswak homeland, Mali

The ticket for the bullet .. love dust-colored shroud

Nothing else I have