Pero no, no hay prisa; te duele el corazón al recordar su sonrisa, te duele con razón, pero no, no hay prisa.
Y vuelves a tu casa con la misma camisa, pero con manchas de ron.
dijous, 27 de febrer del 2014
"She had an overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of women: don't let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything, your slave, be strong! But they were words she could not say."
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