Some nights that happens quit after some time, leaving behind your children crying your unexpected departure, and you do not even feel too guilty. Some evenings
join your friends downtown and eat the spaghetti with clams, shrimp risotto with creamy white buns and hot. Some evenings
spoken so thick and large gestures of the heart that not even see the waiter tries to clear the table.
Some nights it comes to men, children, families, blackmail, pain, love over, love hard, love as easy as child's play, beautiful projects, gossip about the younger colleagues, the snow and the cost of LPG to heat it.
Some evenings you eat in the same three profiterol with melted dark chocolate, from the same glass bowl and cream, and there are black and the lips look like darkettone irreducible but still beautiful.
Some evenings, talking and talking about midnight and became the Cinderella syndrome just touch you.
Some evenings, there was a skin and it scans the same way as the heart, the more difficult, however, find something to soothe as an effective cream, fresh out of on the market.
Some evenings we get naked and you do not then a great effort, will be on seafood salad.
Some evenings we greet you with big hugs and kisses and it seems that success is not really a perfect evening, a kind of dream, a slice back into the daily overwhelming. Some evenings
parking in the night, with your old black coat on him, you hold your hands and you feel great about life, perhaps even a little old and finally silent.
"Some nights," you think while you undress and you lie flat next to your children and rolled up in your duvet: "should pass the mutual"
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