My dear Anna, I am sure that little Matthew does not have anything serious: it is normal for children to accuse, to seasonal changes, the small ailments. Our dear friend, Dr. Alberti has comforted you: there is nothing to fear. And as you could ever fear anything with a caring and loving mother like you? My darling curse
distance, not because it had some kind of concern for the health of Matthew, but for that you can not be around to cheer and reassure you. I guess, even if in your letters do not mention sleepless nights next to the bed of our small. I, like you're there, jump to your face every cough, every sneeze. Honey, I've said many times already, but let me repeat again: you're the best wife I could ever dream of. I was not mistaken, that night a decade ago when, seeing your face in the crowd of girls present at the party, I found the courage, overcoming shyness and raising your sweet blush on your face that made me instantly fall in love with you, to invite you to get ice cream and then leave you my number Phone. Honey, I'll soon be there with you and laugh together, these small concerns. Sweet Rebecca, your lines just come moved me as I happened to time or, perhaps, has never happened in my life. I wonder which man can be called lucky if I, if not addressed small and unworthy of your art,
what matters most, your love. The estimation and admiration I feel for you give the step only the joy of knowing my forever. My heart is yours, sweet Rebecca. I will never return as I would like your poem with the same money but, of course, I can reassure you that my love for you is not afraid, and do not ever fear, modesty and hesitation. Rest in anxious anticipation of your new poem dedicated to me which I have mentioned in your last. I count the days, I said it would be ready within a week: I will be less painful to endure to hold your breath waiting. See you soon, my dear, very soon. Yours forever. Adored Carmen, I think back on last night and I wonder how he can wait another week without dying, without going crazy. Relive your smell, your eyes that you
screwing up while your lips are close to mine, your hands caressing me, and my hungry looking for the treasures that I reserve, the unbridled passion followed by tenderness, as the storm, roaring, follows the first droplets rain. And consumed the night, the rainbow in the morning, light and serenity of the feelings after the storm hugs. I love you, my darling. I will die, yes die! before Wednesday. But today, I can still think of your hair and your eyes ... The water lapped at his feet. It was already dusk, the tide going up, and returned a little later would have deleted the new love, born that day and narrated by a stint on the sand just moist. Since he was shipwrecked, twenty years before, on quell'isolotto lost in the Pacific, the only survivor of a tub on his last journey, had gradually out of paper and pens, and even bottles.
remained the stick, and the sand, a huge blackboard with the rhythm of the waves, forget every night and every morning imagined.
Published
the Italians
and the number of 88 Ucuntu
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