Hair Treatment Older Dry Hair

Voice of the verb to love to dance I never stop

" The guys who love kissing standing

Against the gates of the night passers
And passing them pointed at the guys But
they love
There are no
And it is only their shadow
That trembles in the night
stimulating the anger of passers
Their anger their laughter, their scorn
I envy guys who love there are no
They are elsewhere much of the night away
much higher in the bright of day
splendor of their first love "

Jacques Prevert


I found myself staring at your picture for about ten minutes . An incredible shot that made me question my safety, the safety that you were not happy.
The photo depicts you and her, you are as I have ever seen, you never changed and that you credit because your consistency has continued the good person that you were taught to be, a person who gives love.
She is a she changed and different from the norm, tanned and make-up, you'll understand that I do not see happiness in her smile, I will, but only satisfaction as well as the joy of winning the race. But what I say race? Yet you kiss her on her cheek candida your lips touch the soft skin, the skin of those who could make you happy in his madness. A madness that in thirty years I am sure you will not be able to understand and accept. Perhaps it is entrusted to a strange spell, disturbing to me, but deadly for you. And you, nostalgia for lost love and eager to touch, you gave gently drifting into the journey that we all know to be an endless tunnel.
I'm sorry, I'm asking sincerely, because I hope you understand why I see this tunnel only made of bricks and mold, cold air and mystery of noise so deafening in their silence disorienting.
I imagine you and your strong arms that tighten the fatal decision for you, see you scream and cry. But no one can hear you, no one does so to hear from you.
excuse why I ask you again This, now, is my image of you, I will have until the end, I know I am stubborn, but not change my mind, I'll never stop believing that your choice was wrong.
looking image, however, I think you've learned to live in that cage made of soft eyes and small hands holding adult finger.
Who knows, maybe I'm missing so much, maybe I miss that warm wind that makes me eyes sparkle with excitement, euphoria from a strong and accelerated heartbeat, euphoria marked the close of the lashes, from breath-hold. ..
When find myself, and I grown up, maybe you'll understand then that your gesture, your step, now from twenty years old and a little more like my mom says, I can just imagine how more than you can chew.
Now I can not hear you, not anymore. I have to tighten the strong hope that I kept, I wrap myself in peace and be able to change my image of you. I would like to see a speck of light at the end of the tunnel for me and for you. Not all of us.
Separate but linked from our lives, despite our will on those soft recollections of our first love.


Martina