For the days when everything seems to escape me.
Summer. At home, close to everything that has been produced by itself.
The product of all things living.
Not like the grey concrete that swallows everything that even show an ounce of floral and prosperity.
This week began in Sweden. Ends back in London.
Four beautiful days being carefree.
For beautiful days being carefree.
For, four, for, four.
Spells differenty, means differently and pronounced more or less the same.