Something does not understand and will never understand and it is this desire that certain people have in not wanting to throw anything. I find it incredible. It is as if one were to save, infinitum, the first support. But why, mother of God? Why hang on the wall? "To remember that one was free, this thing so bad that captures your chest? But hey!
bras go, as is everything and there comes a time to sit there and start throwing things away. But seriously: not if ... not ... that alomejor ... Nothing. You sit next to one of these wastes as the one I bought in Portugal the other day, almost as tall as me. A beauty garbage. And for serving a waste? As for that shoot.
I have to admit that it can be a difficult experience, not so much to visit a psychologist, although there are people who would visit him at times like this. I have a friend, for example, that holds up the food bills of their canaries. He says that when they are out their love, only to see a bill will make food for them to revive their love and Kanister Petruska. I do not understand. For me it is a pleasure to shoot. I throw away my life and the proof is that I have hardly anything. But still remain some little things that I have to pay because it does not help save them. How are you my letters exs.
last Saturday so I decided to open this huge box full of letters. I sat accompanied by my dogs and cats in the small courtyard pleased that I have and was getting the cards one by one, read superficially and the trash. How can you save so much nonsense in a cardboard box?
My beloved friend, the desire to be back in your bed blue ... This written by a certain Alberto while he was enjoying a vacation in Cancun with another friend of hers. A waste.
I decided to leave because it is very hard to live two lives ... I had already forgotten about this story. In the trash, then.
'm drinking tea, thinking about your long legs. The scoundrel when he returned from Turkey Turkish forgot to bring me tea. What was his name? Ivan and I know he was a photographer, and very smart. But a wise man is useless if you forget to bring tea. So I left, not only for the tea, which is enough in my scale of values, but other things that I do not remember. But had to be fat. What happens is that all men are alike in the background. My mother was right.
A trash away all these letters of love vague, abstract distant and arguably nonexistent. The years I do understand that what is best for a woman to live alone, without men. I do not really understand the women who can not live without being accompanied by the weaker sex . They say that life without men has no sense . They need to wake up next to a presence because otherwise feel like a vacuum. Obviously do not know how good it is to sleep alone on a good futon and well at ease, without legs or arms at the edge of your body to burden you for the rest of your life. When I wake up first thing you see are the whiskers of Pandora, my Persian cat, here, right under my eyes (dark circles Pandora loves to tickle silver whiskers). And if I go to see a straight face side of Pluto, the French bulldog is prettier than on this planet. Just look at me makes me want to laugh. Does this happen when you open your eyes and you see a man sleeping your side with your mouth open? Come on!
In the garbage, trash and garbage.
A part-time as I prepared a good tea Chinese who do not see my little closer patio: Paquita, the lame. So, here people have nicknames, is for well-defined and not confused with other Paquita. Well, what was: Paquita crept with a plate in his hands, a banana cake and cheese while looking offered me a place to sit . I brought a chair to put next to the trash Paquita looked at him curiously, since in Spain there is no waste of this kind. And then he reported what he was doing. I told him. He became very serious and said that by evil, love letters throw was an act of vandalism to a lonely old age. I would repent, he insisted:
- When you're my age and no one will see ... these letters will be a balm on the long, gray days that await you.
I said that anyway no one was watching me now because men look at girls age 17. He also had many books to read that I never get bored, it is impossible to get bored with reading so much about what happened in the years after that extraordinary war.
- But you continue with this obsession?
Paquita know my passion about the Great War, one day invited her to tea and told him so. He looked at me very kindly and I started talking about his mother, who lived in those terrible years. Since that day, after having listened for more than two hours behind a friendly and attentive silence, Paquita is my friend. It has some goats and occasionally gives me cheese, real cheese, not as those sold in cardboard Mercadona.
La Paquita drank Chinese tea slowly and watched me throw away letters, and not read them, I knew they were from another life, addressed to another woman who did not exist. I do not need cards to be strong, or live, or to find meaning in my life. Shooting is good, to bring order is good. Then what I did was this: I went to make tea, this time an area of \u200b\u200bIraq, and I started reading, surrounded by cats and dogs, What is: letters of fallen soldiers in the field of honor, 1914-1918 , Jacques Benoist-Méchin . A delight.
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