(no subject)
life is too perfect to explain.
how can a place be so wonderful that even when I'm coughing and having trouble breathing it's still perfect?
In a paragraph:
"Twas brillig and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
all mimsy were the borogoves
and the momewraths outgrabe."
how can a place be so wonderful that even when I'm coughing and having trouble breathing it's still perfect?
In a paragraph:
"Twas brillig and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
all mimsy were the borogoves
and the momewraths outgrabe."