Even though you don't think we're birds

And loves loves consuming for happiness. Face to face works. Well, the hands where something is born are not enough if they are not their sorrows. Or the agony of the spirit. Nothing new is known. Nor is it born with certainty. Neither existence without love is made. With love love at least. Love burned. I kissed your space. Although you don't think we're birds.

Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.