The eye blows the key to everything. The eye is the ion of the heart. The eyes reflect on what is going on in the heart. When the heart is full of rashes, the eyes are also slightly shaky. The speed of breathing and the mind's eye also keep beating in the eyes. Even after closing your eyes, a lot of scenes continue. Even when sleeping, dreams do not allow the eye to jump. The eyes of the rider explain the fact of the night. The eyes have a language. The language is simple, but not everyone understands it. To understand the language of the eyes, the eyes need more than the eyes. Not everyone has that vision. We also don't like the way all our eyes solve the language. That right is only available to some people. We don't even have that right. That is why we are looking for angles to weep. Some corners of the house are a living witness to our suffering. There are also some angles in the heart where not everyone gets access. Its doors are open to some people. Where is the dampness of the corner of our eyes all used to?
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It is also fun to cry. If someone is a hoarder! The tears may have seemed a little too dry when there was no shelter. Tears are unfortunate as they dry on the cheeks. The tears shed by our person's salvation also result in salvation. Tears also have a dimension. It is also a small shock to the eye by shedding tears on the ground. When there is an earthquake in the eyes, there is slight tremor in the neck. Do you ever want to cry? Can you cry when you feel like it? Where can we even laugh when it comes to laughing? That's what a girl said. Yes i cry All alone Right in my presence. I release my sensation in the event of a tragedy. Only the witness of the tissue has a dignity to cry. The throaty doom flows through the eyes. No one knows. Sometimes even the thought goes, Who turns, with my wet eyes? When the monsoon sinks in the eyes or when the summer breaks, where does one fade or melt?
The most privacy a man probably needs is to cry. This is a story of a young man. Whenever I would cry we would take the car and drive away. The car stopped in a place nobody could see. One lit a cigarette and then cried at a smoke witness. Saying that is a thrill to see the smoke in the rainy eyes. There is also a shock. My wet eyes have experienced the smoke rising from the cheetah when my person was leaving at the cremation ground. When I remember him, I look for him in the cigarette smoke with wet eyes. Smoke is also a buzzword. It goes up and takes us down a few inside us. The monks perform a fumble, perhaps meaning that the whole aura is found in the smoke. Perhaps in the smoke, he may feel the figure of the soul. Smoke is the ultimate truth. Our eyes witness the fumes of so many deadly events in our lives. Mourning can be described when the sensation dies.
Can you easily cry? A man who can never cry may be left out of a supernatural feeling. Crying is also a wet dialogue with oneself. Such dialogue becomes more intense in solitude. Tears are transparent like water. Tears are different than water. Tears flowing from the eyes to the lips reveal the taste of our mood. Post-mortem of tear drops is the cause of many life events. Tears are also happy. Would the tears of suffering and tears be different? The taste may not be different, but the sensations are different. Whether we are praying for someone, wanting to see someone in a place, and when it is worthwhile, it seems that my prayers have been accepted. At that time, the tears that appear in the eyes give a nod to the sound
