“Being a story is hard when the words are real, they are cornered in the upper part of the soul because they still hurt. The tales she told contained feelings, tactile as her skin, soft as a torn velvet and bitter as yesterday. She wasted stories and narrated her thoughts, tropical, wild, heeled. Dragged by the wind they will arrive at any moment, to other thirsty minds for sad memories and talent “

Time to say the endSecretsFaithDon't tell me talesAnswersImagine talesFifteen years I spendSirens ofYou to decideSpread

Alternative Model: Little Mirror

Stylism by Abaty 93

Muah by Paz Candilejo



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