No one cares, who am I? Who are my parents? What about my story? Whether bitter or sweet my story, sometimes they just berkometar what they see without know what I have experienced, I just pity view my father but on the other hand I'm sick of all my father's behavior, but somehow he still my father, I was thriving in the world. When a person's heart membicarakanya somehow too sensitive so that the tears fall easily his
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