Everything are to tell you
something sacred about reality
or you are missing something.
I am a blossoming deism, with my roots in the mould of agony. On a trunk of bliss made from the cellulose of our unity. Stretched towards the mercy of the summer sky, for my buds to with the light of love burst into a radiant crown within.
God in the most high
Thank you, Amy.
This, Amy Grant; to any "a my" granted.
To whomever it concerns,
consider yourself ؏ا - for Eternal Life
and you can figure out the rest.