Swallows make me a thousand. I brought every year I know that hole or distant migration, and the mess of sites to be state-, fill me with peace shrewd sort, a kind of restlessness comforting ... not very different, indeed, those who produce the proximity of travel and paper. Sometimes I think those bugs, dynamic and loud, have fallen from the heart of May to put life to that level. And I walk out there, excited and smiling, traveler the moment, no movement or backpack, almost an accomplice of immense encouragement given to the world with their tiny voices of birds.
I love when that sound vaguely mixed with the hiss of the covers at linger, your smell and your voice to the premiere to wake up and stretch in the silence of a new day, your curious eyes, calm and expectant at once, as if surprised you Having A awakened by my side.
I love the way they invade the morning we make the breakfast naked in my little kitchen as the world begins to smell like coffee, and then, with the morning rumble in the stomach, going to swallow the sun that falls on your roof, wearing a big shirt, me with a colleague that clams me brought Melilla.
Outside, the muffled sounds of the world seem to light, our voices still serious sleep, the clink of teaspoons and the brilliant stroke of the vessels to leave on a silver platter horrible that someone had given me, the tostada torn between your teeth, your beautiful and terrible teeth chewing girl smiling and fucked ... that sound good to me is a paean cone. And all this, accompanied by the shrill chorus of swallows and blessed, the sun warmed the air still cold in the summer rising, while, below, a distant sound of hundreds of cars and buses emerge from the depths of the streets pits open and the rooftops of the city.
I love when that sound vaguely mixed with the hiss of the covers at linger, your smell and your voice to the premiere to wake up and stretch in the silence of a new day, your curious eyes, calm and expectant at once, as if surprised you Having A awakened by my side.
I love the way they invade the morning we make the breakfast naked in my little kitchen as the world begins to smell like coffee, and then, with the morning rumble in the stomach, going to swallow the sun that falls on your roof, wearing a big shirt, me with a colleague that clams me brought Melilla.
Outside, the muffled sounds of the world seem to light, our voices still serious sleep, the clink of teaspoons and the brilliant stroke of the vessels to leave on a silver platter horrible that someone had given me, the tostada torn between your teeth, your beautiful and terrible teeth chewing girl smiling and fucked ... that sound good to me is a paean cone. And all this, accompanied by the shrill chorus of swallows and blessed, the sun warmed the air still cold in the summer rising, while, below, a distant sound of hundreds of cars and buses emerge from the depths of the streets pits open and the rooftops of the city.
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