Imagine days, spending with him. Long talks in the evening with candles lit around a fine, big table. Sorrow and smoky air in the room while our soft skin and frgaile bones are touching. Paintings are all over the place, a big bed on a hard-wood podium and poems, written on the finest paper, are lying unearthedly on the floor in assymetrical forms. An unintentional attempt to undercover our real feelings. It would be a constant pain and agony between us, quarrels and violent pursuades to discover our pure spirits. There would be seldom passionate parts of our times, yet A teljes cikkért KLIKK!
Mondd el a véleményed
