Forgive I apologize!
I meet the willing, enthusiastic, hot keyboard. I have no idea what my life was before I wrote it. Writing is like a dressing of a wound full of pus every morning. It's like a chemotherapy session for a cancer patient. Like the cold water break under the willow's willow working in the field in July heat. It's like listening to the engine exhaust.
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To caress her hair tomorrow, like drinking tea in the shadow of the plane. Like the soldier's market permit. Writing the breathing received, the heartbeat of the heart palpitations. When you're sweating, take a shower, write in the afternoon, walk on the beach. The letter from Gurbetten to write to the parents on the morning of the Eid. When you open a food you love, it's like love to children. I learned late.
They are your loved ones, your friends. Relax, have fun, enjoy. They're all good people, nice friends, brothers. Those who open your house to your heart are your true friends. They don't counteract. They're not flawed. You don't see it. Be careful what you eat. Or don't. You're on vacation.
You've been trying to lose weight for years. Barely be free on holiday. Just watch what happens. Especially, take care of the chest. Too much opening at sea. As you always do, rub the olive oil on your back. Lower the cigarette. Stay away from the phone. But you can't do that. You can't stop responding to your customers.
Days I count you counting. My flowers are tomorrow morning. I'il fix the TV. A little bit in the living room. I drink cold water from the closet. Empty the dishwasher. The hair dryer is plugged in; I draw him.
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Don't leave me unannounced. I wonder. I'm so happy with her incoming messages, and sometimes I wonder if she came back to me by mistake again. Forgive. I love you
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