Who, like you, to dream with you all these things I should not write to attest that I am not another one of those corny to talk about love? Who, like you, to ward me, me and you, morale outrageously off that comes over me, seemingly forever, when I am without you? Who, like you, to avoid having to re-write what I dream, but to create it? Who, like you, to travel through the sky, until I met you unusual, loving peace and quiet and happy on the flight when we together? Who, like you, so loving, so batter in each one of the things that I find from now, without you needed to live?
is only fear, therefore, the terror of losing one day, the less thought, boy, what makes me give up, now you love me, to surrender your arms like those blessed who have nothing to fear .
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