he laughed and played and she floundered and died ... a few meters away ... I think even one hundred.
He was silly and went into the washing machine and went to drink in the bidet ...
She lacked the air and do not take it anymore, agitated moments before the rest.
The quiet white.
goodbye white rose ...
when we meet again.
a hug and a kiss.
The white rose makes it quiet, like snow, covering the noise ... covering election campaigns, the Olympics, our useless battles.
The white rose covered with white blood, and all our things so horribly wet, soaked with sweat or tears ... The white rose
ennobles and makes poetic. The white rose fades eventually, even the white rose
then dies.
But the white rose is ultimately remains in the heart, is a memory wrapped in light. Of white light. The perfect souvenir. Just as we remember. Just as we want to remember him.
Just as I remember. In a hospital bed, also white I smiled happy to see the baby.
White Rose.
in the kitchen that shows me how to make gnocchi, and it gives me a piece of pancake ... but there was no white rose ...
was red rose. or orange.
No, the white rose is close to the clouds, but it is still poetic, not destroyed by suffering, dall'accanimento therapeutic and fatigue.
the white rose is pale, but calm. is the image of a sunset as you can imagine.
beautiful and sad.
grandmother goodbye.
goodbye.
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