As the sun filters through the gate, I reach into his own bed: 10 days will not resign myself to the idea of \u200b\u200bfinding it empty. I wound on the duvet and cry. I want to sleep, thinking, dreaming.
But upstairs decided to offer the usual spectacle of screaming housewives with over-the musical. Just
: better to give a kick to the duvet and melancholy rather than give in to unhealthy idea to give it to their door!
routine: get up in the gate, I open the window, go to the kitchen, I put on the coffee, put the pillows on my couch but not in his chair (it's intact), I go out on the balcony and I see them: the challenge head-cold this bright February morning, yellow and proud give me your shoulders, look straight ahead and ignore this little girl who cries for temporary absence and justified. In a strange and secret mechanism, the daffodils have allied themselves with the coffee that makes me splashing and running into the kitchen muttering to repair the damage of my sleepiness and my starvation.
finally wake up really talk on the phone with my man, I drink my latte, thanks to my balcony and give my hello to the world.
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