𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢 𝔤𝔬 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰
𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔶;
𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰, 𝔣𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩;
𝔞 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔟𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢.
𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢,
𝔴𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰--
𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱, 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪.
𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, ℑ'𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔲𝔭 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔦𝔪.
ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔣𝔞𝔯.
𝔐𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔥
𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰;
𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶'𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔲𝔱𝔢 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔪𝔬𝔨𝔢, 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰,
𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢, 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰,
𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔬𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔢
𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯, 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔡𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤, ℑ 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔯 𝔦𝔱:
ℌ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰
𝔉𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢: http://mieureum.tumblr.com/
- website: mieureum.tumblr.com/
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Stories by 𝕻𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖕𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖊
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