Again it was night, I was alone again in the city. Emptied on the floor of my desk drawer full of p

Again it was night, I was alone again in the city. Emptied on the floor of my desk drawer full of photographs. I was in my hands a picture of me teenager with a pair of shorts, and a face full of shadows. I was fat, I did not remember I was. A few years later I was already thin, as testified by a photo college freshman. jean cartier At curiosity gradually subentr a strange bewilderment. I noticed a hiding. My life was there, I could pan it in the glossy paper under your fingers, until the most recent images, where I appeared I rarely, never in the center of the frame, his eyes dazzled, amazed by accident. In the progressive exodus maybe it was hidden a secret map. Purposely I had escaped the captivity of memories. If I had died suddenly, I thought, Elsa would have struggled jean cartier to find a recent photograph to put on my tombstone. This thought I rattrist, in fact I consol. I had no witnesses. Maybe it was the anger towards the pathetic self-centeredness of my father to take me in the shadow, a shadow where he lived a daffodil much more subtle. Maybe even in life, in relationships more intense, I had fake. I had prepared the picture, then I was released from the camp and I had taken. It was only turned on the bedside lamp, took off his glasses and looked out his eyes in the dark space in front of me. I opened the door to my study window and landed on the deck. Piascai on the plants, watching the hot steam that dated from that land domesticated in the vessels. The phone rang, I returned. "Elsa, are you?" No response. "Elsa ..." Then, in the bottom of the handset gray one breath that I recognized. As soon as I reached the squeezed, the imprigionai with my embrace. He breathed on me. We were so, I do not know for how long, and narrow property. "I was afraid." "Of what?" "That did not come pi ..." She trembled against my neck. I sank my nose in the parting of her hair black albino, I had to pull myself urgency in the smell of his head. The only thing I needed. And finally I was fine. His mouth had slipped up to my chest. I pulled her out of her arms. "Look at me, please, look at me." You begin to unbutton his shirt, quick buttons came out of the slots lurex, ran under his fingers like a rosary. It appeared her small breasts. The stopped his hand. "No, it does not." jean cartier I picked her up and carried her on the bed in her room. The undressed slowly, moving around her without anxiety, with prudent hands, as if you were preparing a body for an autopsy. She let me do it, yielding. When she was completely naked, I walked away to look at her. Italy abbozz a smile full of embarrassment. You port your hands on the pubis. "I'm too ugly, please ..." But I took them to him and took him those hands high above her head, her hair spread over the chenille bedspread. "Do not move." I walked slowly with his eyes down her body, the solcai piece to piece. Then I undressed completely, as I had never done before her. And I was not beautiful, my arms were too thin, a p belly, and the slanting rod hanging between the hairs, and I felt ashamed. But I wanted jean cartier us to be like that, naked and unattractive. Facing each other, no hurry, no rush, immersed in time. When I was him, I was inside her for a long time without moving into her eyes clear and mushy. We were so, still in that field of fire. A tear fell on his temple, picked it up with his lips. I had no more fear of her, I weighed him like a man, as a son. "Now you're mine, only mine." Later, squatting in the bottom of the bed, he cut my toenails with a small pair of scissors. "How old are you?" "How many do you prove it?" We fell asleep glued. The stroked his head and just sleep stopped my hand. And when I awoke, Italy was no longer beside me. I found a note on the table. I soon as I can. The coffee machine already ready. In the bottom of the ticket was left with a kiss lipstick. I kissed the kiss. I went into the kitchen and turned on the gas under the coffee. I opened jean cartier a cupboard and scanned the order in which he had arranged things inside, stacked plates, glasses small, the largest ones, the package of sugar and flour closed by a wooden jean cartier clothespin for cloths. Hidden behind jean cartier the door I saw a calendar on page one. In the two months just passed, qu el, there was a sign, a small cross. Courses back with the memory, and there was no need, I knew it already, were the dates of our meetings. I discovered something else, above the refrigerator. jean cartier Closed inside a glass jar, I found some notes, some wrinkles, others simply bent. I counted, not missing even a penny.

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