Have I already talked about it? I think not. You would remember. From her. So beautiful. If present in me. An extension of my being. My soul. A soul that inhabits it. In it, I feel like in the womb of a mother. A haven of peace where I feel out of touch. This silence. This love. I feel calm.
I saw her coming. She saw me leave. Return. Again. It is like a giant souvenir box in which it pleases me to fall and fall. A sharp fall where I meet the faces of my childhood, scenes of past happiness and some pain erased. With it I become the little boy I was. A little lonely and left. And gradually as I grew, it became smaller. She went through the years. Imperturbable as the oak stands in the middle of the forest and under which the children like to hide to talk about dragon and princess, a kiss during a recess, what they will do when they are older. She is the protector in a mother's unconditional love. It is the memory of those people who knew her. Closely. By far. Few hours. Few days. Few years. She
this divine gift to all of you feel excited. Whether it's the fragrances she radiates. Smells woody floral aromas. Female species. Manly scents. Sometimes. It has thousands of places from which spring from the emotions that you had buried deep within you. It makes you be born a laugh, a tear. Nostalgia and swirls you away. A memory leads to another, and quite a piece of your youth that opens, releasing the child who has never left.
One day I presented it to my daughter and they are loved immediately. From the first glance. She greeted me with as she had done. I look like my little aphid probably my father looked at me. Turn it around to make your head spin, climb a mountain top as inaccessible. I see her in turn open a huge box in which she puts away her memories. There. Right next to mine. Those of my brother, my sister and my parents. Memories with which she plays as if time had stopped.
After a street. Right. At the edge of a forest. You will find it. It. So beautiful. The house of my childhood.
I saw her coming. She saw me leave. Return. Again. It is like a giant souvenir box in which it pleases me to fall and fall. A sharp fall where I meet the faces of my childhood, scenes of past happiness and some pain erased. With it I become the little boy I was. A little lonely and left. And gradually as I grew, it became smaller. She went through the years. Imperturbable as the oak stands in the middle of the forest and under which the children like to hide to talk about dragon and princess, a kiss during a recess, what they will do when they are older. She is the protector in a mother's unconditional love. It is the memory of those people who knew her. Closely. By far. Few hours. Few days. Few years. She
this divine gift to all of you feel excited. Whether it's the fragrances she radiates. Smells woody floral aromas. Female species. Manly scents. Sometimes. It has thousands of places from which spring from the emotions that you had buried deep within you. It makes you be born a laugh, a tear. Nostalgia and swirls you away. A memory leads to another, and quite a piece of your youth that opens, releasing the child who has never left.
One day I presented it to my daughter and they are loved immediately. From the first glance. She greeted me with as she had done. I look like my little aphid probably my father looked at me. Turn it around to make your head spin, climb a mountain top as inaccessible. I see her in turn open a huge box in which she puts away her memories. There. Right next to mine. Those of my brother, my sister and my parents. Memories with which she plays as if time had stopped.
After a street. Right. At the edge of a forest. You will find it. It. So beautiful. The house of my childhood.
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