He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
A break and a plan.
After working for few hours, I gave myself a break. Chocolate on bread with a glass of Vodka Tonic.
I've set up a plan. I found that I was too pointless to finish the stuff in time. It is a tough plan, it would, I hope, get me into Law school. A couple of history essays weekly, brabrabra. Stick to the plan, and strive the the best result.
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