All my mornings are the same since I live in the capital and is not my life is not a routine beyond the meek, but here mornings are always the same even if they have anything in particular, remain similar, especially mine. Still do not know what it is. Retain that warm the cold of the morning-no cold either in the afternoon or the evening comes close, " sometimes if it has rained stands the smell of wet earth that is mixed with the aroma of brewed coffee and end merging with the perfume of incense. And there is intact hollow anhelándote my sheets, though sometimes the lover turn usurps your place, a place that is yours alone. Every morning is the same from your climb, everything is as you left it, including my spirit withered.
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