Such is the imperfect day, no chance of taking a walk.
Yet, I still want a picnic in the park. Tell me those little tales, the tinest of sorrows...let them breathe free, and into my ears today.
Tell me someday, like it is a sunday confessional. You will feel better, and I will know you more.
Yet, I still want a picnic in the park. Tell me those little tales, the tinest of sorrows...let them breathe free, and into my ears today.
Tell me someday, like it is a sunday confessional. You will feel better, and I will know you more.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
scarydoll:
beckyjane:
I am rarely on MSN anymore, anyway...well it's always on, but i'm never here! (responding to an old comment)