Love, even much of the uncurtained portion of it, is strangely built upon secrets, and it feeds on them. In a way, love itself is a secret. When it's lost or disappears you can never tell anyone what it's meant to you--and sometimes you can't even remember yourself.
Now for those of you who know me, know that im NOT the most religous person in the world.However, i found this little thing to be nice.I dont know what its called but here it is
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