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I got over every time, and the thread of the heart has been cut snappingly suddenly though I brought myself to have become nature and the mental monster. Nothing can do it and wants to go nowhere and does not come home though I just drive a car and passed half past 21. I hit you here while doing it and write it as not thinking  in a car. Because words cannot express it well; a troublemaker. Though I am not hungry, I am thirsty. Surely nobody's gentle words enter the severe words. The reason why the thread of the heart was cut snappingly is not identified. Even so, I might not hate something particularly. I don't wanna whose help for me.
Anything wants to be wrapped in pitch-black darkness to hear nothing invisible once. Then because I feel like being able to come back to the bright place with a view of the light again.
I throw all away and do not think the thing to part with all. Because I am endowed with various things.