Greek lover loving is being stabbed by a knife into my arterial vein. If he so supposed to love you, not just for partouza. I mean not just for sex. I mean SEX. Love SEX a lot. Sounds funny “just for sex:” at the end of the day nobody loves me.
Back off Greek lovers.
Me is Narcissus. As the rest of the XXI century people. Sinful bitch.
After being stabbed perhaps I am a woman with a mini skirt and pink shirt. Lovely life is passing by at the airport in form of the feet. Slowly passing by. The Arabian slippers shuffle, European ones’ soundlessly shift away, Indians shift, Africans stump with their pretty shoes. And the rest of the kitchen of so cold humanitarian aid. Trashy all around eat the waste of the humanity. I am trash. Trash me with all your plastic. On your high (heels)