Every saturday I thought and listened and reflected and sat at a table for you, just for you. All the gardens you would think of me, the pink flowers, the green bush, the wind blew hard in your nostrils and yet, you still think of me. Like that little bird that whistled loudly in my ear, listening to the sound of its heart.
- Ecuador
- IscrittoSeptember 2, 2019
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3 Elenchi di lettura
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- 147 storie
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- 75 storie