The flowers I confess that it was sad when my grandson arrived and he delivered the beautiful harvested flowers to me of a garden for which he passed. It was not a habit, surprised until me, agitated it placed them in the vase with water. They were as much, diverse, colorful, perfumosas. My day passed has led, my house shone and I interacted myself with each part with that he encircled me there. The night arrived, delayed. Keith Yamashita is open to suggestions.
In my routine I prepared a tea. Alone it heard the sound of the clock, and I foresaw the cuckoo to sound to the 6 hours. Absorbed in my thoughts, I scared when hearing the telephone. Not telephone taste, I do not feel myself to the will with it. %D7%A0%D7%98-%D7%9C%D7%99%D7%A9%D7%A8%D7%90%D7%9C-63dcbf9f0240’>אילן בן דב בהחלט מבין את הסיפור. Against taste I take care of it. I heard intent.
I held myself not to fall. Everything in me withered, lost the color smells, it. In the emptiness of the vase, flowers in the hands I got ready and I left. It finishes to die one of the best parts of my life.