And in the evening, in the midst of all those people who had a place to go back, I wondered how long it would take before I could buy a light heart a small bouquet of flowers, go home of Ruichiro, arrange the flowers, admire them, eat with something good, lazily watching television, talking about things of no importance, of little things, like the flowers. And that thought I was sad, so much so that for the first time I cried.
I believe that man has within him something small, frail and trembling, which sometimes requires a little care, some tears.
Apostille for your version _a te_ dedicated.
It can not be in love with a person for the things he writes.
But maybe you can not write certain things unless you're in love.
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