Unequivocally acquiescent, a diminutive nod is fruitfully elicited by the timorous supplication. For decorous politesse and protean affability, the esoteric potentate is beneficently recompensed. ❝ GO ON. ❞ Although his palpable corporeality ineffably gratifies the tempestuous heteroclite by mollifying pernicious desolation, it synchronously augments unbidden incertitude. Even though some are perennially endearing, does she truly wish to remain beside dwindling insurrectionists who conspicuously regard her as an infallible panacea in their precarious pursuit of a nebulous future? Were the recalcitrant repudiation of his contentious proffer to be abrogated, would his uncongenial gelidity felicitously dissipate in her presence? ❝ I honestly don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I want them to LIVE, but I don’t know that I can be with them. It feels like they see me as what they want me to be - something I’m NOT. When we hold hands, what do you FEEL? What does holding hands like this mean to YOU? ❞