Results for but i havent forgoten about you s... translation from English to Tagalog

i havent forgot about you guys
i haven't forgot about you

but i thought about you all the time
hindi kita maalis sa isip ko

i know but i don't care about you?
i know but i don 't care about you?

but i hate to think about you with somebody else
but i hate to think about you with someone else.

i love you so much but i don't seem to care about you
sana hinde ka mag bago aking mahal

i always cared about you it's ok if you forgot me but i still love you for the reason that i can never forget you
ako ay palaging nagmamalasakit sa iyo okay lang kung nakalimutan mo ako ngunit mahal ko pa rin sa iyo dahil sa hindi ko malilimutan ka

madame i want to know about you but we can't talk because we only talk about nudes. i want to get to know you better but i can't.
madami ako gusto malaman tungkol sayo pero hindi naten mapag usapan dahil puro nudes lang laman ng usapan naten. gusto kita makilala ng husto pero hindi ko magawa.

happy birthday my dear friend. so many birthdays have come to you. i will try to control what i feel about you but i can't do it because as the day goes on i love you more.
maligayang kaarawan aking mahal na kaibigan.sana maraming kaarawan pa ang dumating sayo.masaya ko at nakilala kita,noong una akala ko suplado ka kasi ang tahimik mo pero habang lumilipas ang mga araw lalo kita nakikilala at di ko sukat akalain na sa mga pamamagitan ng mga pagkwekwentuhan natin mahuhulog ang loob ko sayo.sinubukan kong pigilan yung nararamdaman ko sayo pero di ko magawa dahil habang lumilipas ang araw mas lalo pala kitang minamahal.kaya naglakas loob ako na aminin sayo,di ko na i

a low art [excerpt from the penelopiad] by margaret atwood (canada) now that i’m dead i know everything. this is what i wished would happen, but like so many of my wishes it failed to come true. i know only a few factoids that i didn’t know before. death is much too high a price to pay for the satisfaction of curiosity, needless to say. since being dead — since achieving this state of bonelessness, liplessness, breastlessness —i’ve learned some things i would rather not know, as one does when listening at windows or opening ot her people’s letters. you think you’d like to read minds? think again. down here everyone arrives with a sack, like the sacks used to keep the winds in, but each of these sacks is full of words —words you’ve spoken, words you’ve heard, wo rds that have been said about you. some sacks are very small, others large; my own is of a reasonable size, though a lot of the words in it concern my eminent husband. what a fool he made of me, some say. it was a specialty of his: making fools. he got away with everything, which was another of his specialties: getting away. he was always so plausible. many people have believed that his version of events was the true one, give or take a few murders, a few beautiful seductresses, a few one-eyed monsters. even i believed him, from time to time. i knew he was tricky and a liar, i just didn’t think he would play his tricks and try out his lies on me. hadn’t i been faithful? hadn’t i waited, and waited, and waited, despite the temptation — almost the compulsion — to do otherwise? and what did i amount to, once the official version gained ground? an edifying legend. a stick used to beat other women with. why couldn’t they be as considerate, as trustworthy, as all-suffering as i had been? that was the line they took, the singers, the yarn- spinners. don’t follow my example, i want to scream in your ears — yes, yours! but when i try to scream, i sound like an owl. of course i had inklings, about his slipperiness, his wiliness, his foxiness, his — how can i put this? — his unscrupulousness, but i turned a blind eye. i kept my mouth shut; or if i opened it, i sang his praises. i didn’t contradict, i didn’t ask awkward questions, i didn’t dig deep. i wanted happy endings in those days, and happy endings are best achieved by keeping the right doors locked and going to sleep during the rampages. but after the main events were over and things had become less legendary, i realised how many people were laughing at me behind my back — how they were jeering, making jokes about me, jokes both clean and dirty; how they were turning me into a story, or into several stories, though not the kind of stories i’d prefer to hear about m yself. what can a woman do when scandalous gossip travels the world? if she defends herself she sounds guilty. so i waited some more. now that all the others have run out of air, it’s my t urn to do a little storymaking. i owe it to myself. i’ve had to work myself up to it: it’s a low art, tale-telling. old women go in for it, strolling beggars, blind singers, maidservants, children — folks with time on their hands. once, people would have laughed if i’d tried to play th e minstrel —there’s nothing more preposterous than an aristocrat fumbling around with the arts — but who cares about public opinion now? the opinion of the people down here: the opinions of shadows, of echoes. so i’ll spin a thread of my own.
isang mababang kwento ng sining sa tagalog