How shall the thoughts together in the evening ... Among the papers that I have left and right, the promise of a good story on the bedside table, that if it takes courage to become even better in my head. The air that is allowed by the half-open window, along with the distant sounds of the curve of the road leading into town. The air we already know a little in summer, but retains the gentle grace of spring. My glasses heavy eyes heavy are new? seems different! or are different my eyes? The title I have stolen from the library when vague elsewhere, as a tourist alone with the bag full of leaves and ice cream in one hand, and which reads Love does not say . But as far as I know, sometimes writes, sometimes whispered, sometimes you, sometimes you remember, sometimes gives way ... No, maybe not sinks, not even abandons the amorechenonsifadire.
(At night, I know, does not keep good thoughts and the book, I leafed through fun and thoughtful, is still there on the shelf where one afternoon all, I had called. Wait, in vain, that I am ready.)
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