When I was 17… I bought a notebook with blood red velvet covers, and it was for my thoughts. Not a diary, but a diary. On the first page I wrote “Just like my Phoenix, I am born and I die over and again…”. I don’t remember the rest, the book is in my house in snow covered Belgrade.
No, this won’t work here. I need my absolute privacy that can be exposed only to those living in my most guarded depths where skin is white as stone, by a waterfall of my teenage romance, where the cheek is cold and rough, where the phone rings for unbearable amounts of time and the sweet tiny voice is on the other end, where we are on top of a narrow tall brick building swaying to the sides and I am trying to protect you from yourself, where we are on an uncomfortable bed in the lightest embrace, indescribable in words, on a blog, where you are all reading…
It was good.
Katarina Petrović 
I really think you’re beautiful. Your mind is so toxic and I can not avoid its toxicity. And, even though you might poison me, I would let you do that just so I can spend couple of minutes with you, make you laugh and love me. My name is Nemanja. I offered you 2 strawberries in DM on IGram. @limunsvez