was always a disadvantage called Nazaria. Nazaria
lives down the street, where the news is over.
The mailman does not need surnames, known by the maid, always.
Today brings a letter for her. It has no return address. Lyrics beaked leave a shaky landscape and blue at the edges of his name. Nazaria
mailbox is about to debut, the time sealed the mouth of the waiting and hungry for news gave birth to a desert lime.
wood creaked under the knuckles to the second shot, leaving a half-open Nazaria life. The envelope travels to his hand. Sudden Crown pale paper, do not know where to host it. He looks the whole night.
His room is a small world where lost dreams. His bed looks like an unfinished spring. The sheets are a wasteland of lavender and lavender involving orphan caresses your skin.
afraid of owning something, and waiving the right to be concerned.
news breaks into pieces. Tomorrow
would change its name.
Nights in White Satin.
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