Tomorrow the weather will be better, but now it is horrible.
The only pretty thing here is a young girl's portrait and pink wall with photos. There are a lot of smiles.
I see you. You seems to be a truly old. Your sleeves are full of wine spots and the only thing on your dark and pretty wooden table is a cigarette butt. You have a very sickly wrinkle on your ring finger. In your eyes last night's Casablanca and bowl with olives.
I see a beautiful women who has been dreaming about this place for several years. She is young, her cheeks are tasty, her lips are full of tears. She is there but she is sad. He buys wine and artworks, earns money. He loves her. She loves her hair and goat cheese. She brings him pain. He brings her Morocco.
But then.
He loves her fingers. They are so simple and beautiful. He loves her smile and her biscuits with lemon. It is expensive to cook but they decided that they can buy less books and then they will be able to cook it. And they are happy.
e are here again. There are wonderful dark table and a pair of lonely hands.They are full of rain.
I feel sorry for your despair, because tomorrow is Monday. Tomorrow everyone will have a new life.
Sorry, old man. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you are happy now. Maybe you will be happy tomorrow. Maybe...
Sorry, man.
Maybe it is just a horrible weather today.
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