Sometimes someone comes to us, we are going to someone, you are talking, you are telling something, you are telling without silence, you are telling everyone silently, telling them the same stories, or even sometimes telling things that never happened, or listening to you.
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I'm waiting for you to bend my head in front of me. I'm trying to smile and more laugh. I'm going out for a drink. I pretend to be talking to someone. I think a lot of other women do similar things. Men like to talk very much but usually empty. To tell stories that are the protagonists themselves. Women are waiting for them to finish throwing away from the pouch.
It's seven o'clock in the morning. How I loved to drink cool summer soup with you at this table where I wrote you a letter. Tiredness sipping our coffee while the sun is constantly inside, so good that we moved here to repeat how much I loved my life. When I was washing the balcony, laying clean sheets on the table, I was happy to open a soda over the dish while separating the bones of crayfish into cats. I was very happy with the vanilla and cocoa cake I smell cakes slowly spread all over the house, while the bunny next to the cake brewing tea I was happy with you.
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I liked to do lazy sometime in the morning. Forget about getting up later. Five more minutes, fifteen more minutes, half an hour, another hour to sleep. Some days, do nothing before dinner, dinner to pass the evening breakfast, the control channel through the channel to walk, to sleep on the couch, sometimes morning, believe me, I loved them all. But once in a while. The laziness comes sweet when done one by one. It's not sweet when it's a lifestyle. I mean, you know, I learned it.
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