Pain In Bottom Of Big Finger

private Lola

After spending the first eight stories published here at Survival Blog , restoring a tradition inaugurated today on the old blog, that of repeating here the stories written for "Nick of Time " time the competition is held every month on the forum Edizioni XII.

The following story was written for XIII edition of the competition, themed " a bury you laugh. "When a vote of consensus varied greatly, being sometimes literally at the top and bottom of the standings . You be the judge which of the two position is more appropriate.

Lola

Look, Lola.

Look at me while I look at you. Look for the last time.

This was not the look I wanted from you. Are not these sweet eyes and light I had seen, and I expected I'd asked.

Not what I thought. You're not my Lola.

When I've always known you laughed. He smiled at my jokes, you'll be amazed when you told me, I send kisses and hearts.

Semicolon, right parenthesis. Same of capital. Colon, asterisk. Less than three.

You were so nice, always there available for me to make me feel important and infect us with your humor. You were special. You were my Lola.

But you're not her. Perhaps you've never been really Lola.

was me calling you that. Remember the first time we spoke?

I asked you your name, and before you answer the question, you wrote: lol

lola? I asked.

You have explained that this was not your name, but I did not care.

lola I'll call you, I decided, before I reveal your real name.

still do not know. It does not matter now.

always laughed when you were Lola. Each reply was the vanguard of an army of yellow happy smilies. Laughed when we exchanged addresses, to send each other books we think is important. When you laughed at the same time, we opened each other's photos, when I saw for the first time sweet and bright eyes, those eyes that I would look at me now.

laughed when I said we should meet.

I dreamed last night, I confessed. we see, I need you

lol

You said just that.

lol

do not understand. Does it seem possible that I was serious.

You should not have laughed, Lola. Not this time. You should not have laughed when I offered my heart.

Minor, slash, three.

Now you understand, right?

watching me, with your eyes made bright with tears, finally realize that I love you, Lola. I wonder if you see

anche conto che sei tu a morire, ma io a sprofondare.