13
Ott
Paris.
The sun is caressing between the curtains and a slight breeze that moves matted hair on the pillow. The sound of an accordion and the crisp scent of a baguette.
Paris that always greets me as a wandering daughter, that after visited the intricacies twists and turns of the world and the soul, always comes back in that one place called “home”.
In a period in which time d...
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