Do you know why we don’t understand things anymore? Because we no longer place ourselves at the height of the grass. We think we are tall as oaks and we do not realize that we are as thin as blades of grass. We are abstract: only a breath remains of us. The elegance of the surrounding nature allows us to understand that everything passes and changes. But, while the natural Energy does it through silence, we cross this earth with a heavy step. We, who less than any other being would have the right. Because we have all the laws of the cosmos at hand and we don’t use them. Because we were born into the world to be happy and we prefer sadness. Yes, sadness is a mental condition, it is a choice. Each of us, in the morning, can wake up and choose. But we don’t do it because we are afraid. We are the ones who have to learn, once again, from what surrounds us, be they animals or plants. We are not oaks silhouetted against the sky, or dancing eagles. Our nature is still radically welded to the ground: this is why we allow ourselves to trample it, humiliate it and tear it as we do with blades of grass. You always learn from the little things. And from the big ones. And I have never seen anything more subtle and vast than a lush meadow.
People shouldn’t be asked how you are, but are you happy? ”. This is a sentence I wrote some time ago on Facebook, supported by the motivation that the “How are you?” mechanically replicate “Good”. Regardless of the emotion you feel at that moment. No one is used to being asked REALLY “How are you?”: It has become a standard form, almost like the “Hello” or the “Good morning” which is answered as a form of education (and perhaps not even so sincere). “Good morning”, by now, it is also said to one’s worst enemy. The problem is that the “How are you?” it is slowly inserting itself into the same context. This is why when people meet someone who, after the classic standard answer, respond with a “No, really. How are you?” they are amazed. There is a general (wrong!) Acquisition of awareness that makes a good part of mankind think that no one really cares about how they are. Because? If I ask someone how they are doing it is because I REALLY want to know how they are doing. I want to know if he is happy, if he smiles, if he would like to cry and cannot, if he feels he is dying inside, if he would like to scream out of nervous tension. I want that someone to get rid of the burden of prepackaged “All right”. What if it’s not true? You are lying: you are including a lie in your personality that will allow, once again, the Other to take a piece of you. It is a lie to oneself, even before others. It is hiding behind a finger, a loaded gun aimed at the temple. What if we used the truth instead? What if we said “It sucks. But it will pass ”? It is not a lie: you always know that it passes, even when there seems to be no hope. Let’s make our “How are you?” does not turn into an optional, something given as a gift that we do not like and that remains to mold in some drawer. It is not true that those who ask you do not care to know how you are. I care, for example.


Often it is precisely in the souls that seem purer and more innocent that a superb height, an instinctive touchiness, a ruthless rivalry that leads to rotting everything from the inside branches out. Sometimes I find much clearer souls that burn, that lower their gaze struck by pain, than the light of not being destined for another, it is from their profound decadence that the most revolution is born.
Today I have become the sea. We settled on the rocks, very close to the power of the water. Me, Giusy and Thomas. Looking at the great impetuosity, Giusy took refuge on the rocks further back. Thomas and I were left to hear him scream and play, the sea. I sang the Maha-Mantra for him and the Sea approached us, we were admired and we stood watching the seagulls dancing in the wind. The Sea greatly appreciated the Mantra. When Thomas returned to the rocks further back, where Giusy was, I asked the Sea to be granted the honor of being him. At first I struggled a bit: the impetuosity made me fearful. Then, in front of me, I saw something that opened my eyes: the foam of the Sea was intertwined, like two hands looking for and finding each other. Then the Light of the Energy opened in me and I was suddenly the waves and every part of the drops breaking on the rocks. I was the uninterrupted swaying of the distant ocean, I was the water behind the invisible horizon, I was the air I breathed, the land beneath the sea and even further down the center of the Earth itself. Then I went up from the depths of the world and I was the sky and I saw the whole world from above. Everything Existing was in me and I felt I was Everything. In that moment I felt the Sea fall in love with me, everything fall in love with me. And I fell in love, in turn, with everything on Earth. I was, in a single instant, loved, lover and in love. The sea courted me and I let myself be spoiled. I felt I was the Bride of the Universe, in a continuus of Servant and Mistress of Love. I tried an ancestral Desiderio and I felt Desiderata: we played Lovers, me and the Sea. Giusy and Thomas called me back to the Present. When I got up from the rocks, the Sea impetuously begged me to stay. But it would be useless: now he is in me and I in him, forever.
The roar of the water thunders the time. An impetuous and straining wind drags along these other rocks that bring us less closer to the sea. On the other hand, it is he who approaches us. He shakes and swells like a lover filling his chest. He immediately tried to grab me as soon as we got here. He is a very impetuous and jealous lover, the Sea. Wind and Sun play the winnings on my skin, between cold and heat. For now, the feeling is still one of disarming freedom and freshness. I left my hair down, dancing with the Wind. The Sea does not let me write: it requires attention, as my partner usually does when I do something else. Before, I witnessed the group flight of the seagulls and they seemed to me so many precious Gods in the sky. The salty smell pervades my nostrils and kisses my skin. The tumultuous Spouse attempts proximity with ever higher waves. In me, it fights the desire to escape and stay. Who knows why, the sea has always sent me melancholy. And here, as I think these words, light drops rest on my face, like a caress. The sea pampers me. And I vow to the Whole for every day of my Existence.
You are a Swami (mistress-mastery in Hindi) ”, Giusy told me yesterday, returning home. It didn’t affect me. Neither pride nor shyness ran into my veins. Neither the arrogance of when I felt above the world, nor the smallness of when good people asked me to teach them. I refused for inadequacy. Today I reject that term out of respect for the Swami we heard yesterday. Nothing I have said up to now, in recent years, is mine: everything comes from the wonder of the purest listening to the Energy. The Energy speaks through the silence of my mind is the opening of the Heart. I know my potential and I don’t take pride in it. I also know my current limitations and I don’t blame myself. The rigidity of self-criticism pushed to the extreme of itself is of no use to anyone. It doesn’t help people find each other, if anything it leads them to despise them even more. Just as the irregularities of the rocks of a stream make it unique in the world for its shape, path and water sound, so our strengths and defects make us irreplaceable streams.
What we all care about is not listening: of oneself, of others, of the world, of the different intonation of all the animals on earth, of a leaf that lands on the water, of a feather that rolls in the meadow. Everything has a sound and a value, but we take it for granted. “Since I know what noise it makes, I don’t deserve to listen to it a second time”, we tell ourselves. Our most used word is: “I know”. But we don’t really know anything. We are like babies in the Universe and we already think we are big. We will be great only when every noise is worth it, when every “I know” disappears from this earth and we will listen to the voices of people wiser than us repeat things we already think we know a hundred times. Often we hear a word a hundred times and only once it enters our heart. We are hard on the uptake. We do not know how to be silent: the non-noise scares us. Yet there the voice of the Energy hides and whispers. Do we come into the world in Love and would we like to die in Fear? In the fear of energy, then? Whoever does not reveal the Heart to the Energy of things, in truth, is never born. We are butterflies in the cocoon, until the day we hear the voice of What He has created and what He has created. Then we will say: “Behold, this is the Voice of the Energy that has no name and has a thousand; that induces, that prays, that vice, that chooses, that loves, that explains. This is the Voice of Energy and now I recognize it. I recognize his Love, his thousand ways, his thousand choices, his sweet prayers, his infinite lives, his simple explanations. Now I recognize it and feel (I don’t know!) That it’s all true ”. Then yes, then we will be free. We will be born.


Today I cried again. Alone. In the shower.
I got good at not getting noticed in those moments. Or at least I try.
I don't always succeed.
The truth is that, by now, I have too much load to be able to "hide". Too many words that were not spoken, too many emotions that we tried to hold back. They are all there: stuck in the throat for several months. I'm on vacation and I should smile at everyone. But as usual he ruins everything.
Emotions press hard, like a ping-pong ball into the stomach.
The Miss who can make it at any cost, this time has succumbed to a crash.
Always at the right time when others need a hand and always at the wrong time when it's your turn. Because Miss doesn't know how to ask for help. They taught her (no, not her parents, but Existence itself) to stand on her legs and arms, because the mental stakes one clings to always disappoint.
And he does not know how to ask for help, nor take it, not even when that help comes spontaneously.
Perhaps because not all of them are inclined to Listening and even less lead to Listening to You.
Few are those who take words out of your mouth and pain out of your heart.
There are even fewer who understand you or those who care to understand.
No victimhood: everyone has their own difficulties in life and pain often tends to close rather than open.
Fears, then, govern the unmanageability of certain situations and you don't know what to do, how to help.
Silence. Thus we take refuge in Silence, when Speaking and being Listened to is the only real solution.
This is why, in the end, most people go to psychologists: because "no man is an island" and everyone wants to talk.
Listening is no longer practiced, not even towards oneself.
We hurt ourselves so much with words that don't come out, with emotions that don't vibrate, with gestures that don't happen.
Then you anesthetize yourself and think that finally that is the solution in which you no longer feel anything, to discover with horror that the pain remains and the joy fades too quickly.
It does not come out.
Today I cried in the shower. Alone.
I cried to cradle a little girl whose father died just over two months ago; I cried because that creature knows that her father was not a good father, but that he was hers and no one can take this memory out of her head.
I cried listening to the Woman with the chaos of feelings in the Soul, the indestructible Goddess who never wants to collapse ... pity that she is in a physical body that, sooner or later, had to yield to so many difficulties.
I cried for the youngest daughter, the one who wants to feel fragile because feeling fragile is a sign of humility towards oneself and towards one's own Existence.
I held the child, the lady, the youngest daughter .. I cried with them.
I burned my chest with sobs and ran out of tears. For today.
They will come back. Until I learn to speak.
He always destroys everything. Him and his anger. And now he sleeps and I am the woman who dreams when he sleeps.


You see a mile away that you are special, everyone points it out to you but you don’t want to see it. You color the lives of those around you but you can’t find anyone who colors yours, and I see you looking around for a pair of eyes in which to reflect yourself. But you can’t find them, because you are pure and the only time I saw you mirrored in someone was when that child was in your arms, the one you said had the same eyes as me, but strangely I saw yours again. . You tell me that I have an innate purity, and I tell you, and so we spend our days wondering who among us is right, never finding an answer, even if I know it. Sometimes we see the world in black and white, and while I drown in the darkness of darkness you point out the purity of white, and slowly together we emerge from the abyss. We often have a tantrum, because we are never too old to cry in exchange for a candy, or a caress. Sometimes I would like to give you my eyes, and ask for yours in return, to change perspective and see if our points of view are damn the same or so damn different that they collide all the time. And sometimes I want to make you feel special, just as much as you make me feel.
I grew up with her. “The flower that blooms in adversity is the rarest and most beautiful of all” has become the phrase I repeat most often. They always wanted me to be different: thinner, more affectionate, less cold, less sarcastic, less reserved, more feminine … But I can’t. I don’t know how to hug, sarcasm spontaneously comes out of my mouth, I’ll always have a tomboy part, despite my make-up and hair in order. I have always fought, I have always managed by myself. Some time ago, I wanted to get a lotus flower tattoo. It is a particular flower: it comes from the slime, from the mud but finds the strength to blossom and emerge from this dirt. When it blooms it’s wonderful. I felt and I feel this way. I just can’t fully blossom, I always find myself trapped in the mud, few parts have blossomed, the rest is still hindered. I gave up the tattoo partly out of fear, as I am too delicate, partly because it is now turning into a too trivial tattoo. So maybe I’ll mix a Celtic four-leaf clover with their flower. But I still haven’t had time to try to draw it.
When one is dedicated, one is totally dedicated. We all share the pain, something deep that breaks our hearts in half, that makes us gasp, oppresses us and makes us scream inside with evil until we are completely exhausted. But love wins everything. Love overcomes time, overcomes pride, overcomes anger, overcomes difficulties. Here, above all, Love overcomes difficulties. Because Love is dedicated to heal, to heal, to remind us that life goes on and we can open ourselves to something great, beautiful, new. Love holds hands and hugs tightly, because Together is Better. Together we are never alone. Two Heads reason, discuss, comfort each other, understand each other, advise each other. They help each other. They love each other. Because love wins everything and knowing that you can share your problems on the strong shoulders of those who love us is already a great sigh of relief. Love Wins everything. Because Love knows. Love knows. He knows suffering, he knows tears … but he also knows the joy of falling in love, of being together. To make it: in spite of everything. “When Love arrives, treat it well”. If Love is faced with the Common Thought of being Two Souls who give themselves to each other, then Love is realized. And it completes. In the Today and Forever.
Give me time to change. I don’t like habits. They are an unconventional of habits. Yet, in the end, I get used to it. Like all. I have always welcomed changes with sudden ease. Growing up, who knows why who knows how, I neglected to cultivate this ability. For years I have pursued habits that have become stronger and more alive. Some of these saved me, some broke me. None, however, is indispensable if I don’t have the ability to let them go. Just give me time to change. This morning, I met a dear Buddhist friend of mine who was six months pregnant. She is a special, sweet and courageous woman. We talked about children, parents, education and Love. When I left her, I told myself that it is worth changing, choosing to be a better person if only to leave something Good, Bright, Strong in the world. And, in the presence of the children, to be able to set a good example. Because it is never the adults who educate the children, but the opposite. Adults mislead children, force them, clip them, adhere them to their reality, forgetting that the vision of children is much more complete than theirs. It is worth changing to remember how to play, how to taste the snow, how to touch the ground. Finding the time. That as adults we lose, we fight, we take the rest of our life. Give me time to change. The time to abandon my mental schemes, pre-built in years of purism, which have become aseptic. A purism that smells of emptiness and in which I no longer came to meet myself. Myself. Find myself. Love me. Live me. In order not to have fears. To forget that I was looking for myself and just remember to be happy. I’ve spent far too long telling myself no. Please forgive me, thank you, I love you. Give me time to change and I will rely on myself, without trying to be helpful at all costs. The Posts. I am there. But first of all I have to Be There for Me. To love, to love me, not to disappoint me. The courage to remember that goodness is not something that can be given as a gift, only to find oneself empty-handed. “If you keep filling other people’s glasses, when do you drink from the well?” Alive. Here, “Live” also means this. I’m finishing “getting ready”. Then the change will come, light and sincere. Habits will fall like houses of cards, faded by the wind. It is the world that acts as a mirror for me, it will change in my embrace.


Near Trieste, on a rocky spur overlooking the sea, stands the Miramare Castle, once the southern gate of the Austrian Empire. A place of wonders where Princess Sissi stayed during her long travels in Europe. A treasure trove of history and legend that tells the tragic story of its founder, Maximilian of Habsburg.
Here Princess Sissi saw the sea for the first time and was captivated by its beauty and impetuosity; characteristics in which the empress probably found herself.


The Savoy Castle was built at the behest of Queen Margherita of Savoy, who loved Gressoney so much, to the point of residing there during her summer stays until 1925, initially a guest of Baron Beck Peccoz and from 1904 in his residence. The building is located in the Belvedere area, a name due to the wonderful view that can be enjoyed, which allows you to admire the Monte Rosa valley.


  • The Sanfratellano dei Nebrodi horse (or San Fratello breed) is an Italian breed originally from the Messina area. Majestic and rustic, docile and proud, the Sanfratellano horse has been the undisputed master of the Nebrodi mountains for centuries.
The ancient Greeks called this area “the land of roe deer”, and it is precisely from “nebros”, roe deer, that the name of the park was born. The Nebrodi Park, which with more than 80 thousand hectares of surface, is the largest protected natural area on the island, represents a breathtaking spectacle of unspoiled nature. Through its paths and paths there are different types of vegetation to discover and a rich and complex wildlife community.
An ideal place to indulge in a dream trekking during your Sicilian holidays. Formed by the rushing waters of the San Basilio stream, at a height difference of 30 meters carved by time, the waterfall is located in the territory of Galati di Mamertino in an area full of charm that offers numerous ideas for pleasant walks.
A small corner where you can also relax by offering a prayer to the Madonna present in the icon placed by the citizens of Caronia Montagna to consecrate the wood to the Lady of Nature.
Lake Maulazzo is a suggestive artificial reservoir of about 5 hectares on the north-eastern slopes of Monte Soro, the highest peak of the Nebrodi. The path leading to the lake proceeds through hidden and unusual paths. You can admire streams of clear water, small mammals, diurnal birds of prey, griffins and, with a little luck, even the golden eagle. There is no shortage of plants, flowers and mushrooms typical of the undergrowth. Lake Maulazzo is an important lake environment: although it was born as an artificial lake, over time it has naturalized, offering shelter to many animal and plant species.
The Sicilian Black pig, also called Nero dei Nebrodi, Nero delle Madonie or Nero dell Etna is a native breed with very ancient origins. It is a very fine breed with a strong and highly recognizable meat flavor. Sicilian black pigs are raised in the wild and semi-wild state in the wooded areas of the island, free to feed according to nature, guaranteeing the goodness of their meat thanks to proper nutrition consisting mainly of acorns and chestnuts.
It is enclosed between the borders of Randazzo and Tortorici. It is a natural alpine lake and is the highest in Sicily (1435 m asl). Its waters besides quenching the thirst of numerous herds, attract numerous avian species, including gray herons, coots, moorhens and mallards.
If you are looking for adventure in contact with nature, if you are attracted by the unknown or if you (simply) like walking, you cannot miss this Sicilian stop, to be added immediately to your “to do list”, that is to the list of 1000 things to do on the weekend. The next one, for example.
Birdwatching of Nebrodi griffins. From the educational laboratory “La Tana delle Idee” you can watch the griffons thanks to dioramas and cameras present in the nesting sites of the Griffons. These large birds with their wingspan of over three meters, can travel hundreds of kilometers in one day.
Three pairs of golden eagles live in the area of ​​the Nebrodi Park and one of these, the one that lives in the stupendous landscape of the fortresses of the Crasto di Alcara li Fusi, is linked to a singular and fascinating legend. It is said, in fact, that a hermit, San Nicola Politi, who lived in a cave among these inaccessible mountains had established an exceptional relationship with the Golden Eagle and every day provided for his sustenance receiving the blessing of the sacred man. This tradition finds testimony in the paintings that can be observed in the town of Alcara li Fusi and the relationship of affection of the locals towards their eagle is still alive and testified by the good health of this couple, which is among the most fruitful and productive of the whole Sicily.


The Aztecs - the people who inhabited pre-Columbian Mesoamerica - were far more ingenious than you think, especially in some domains, including engineering.
The Aztecs - who identified themselves with the name of mexica - arrived in the first half of the 1300s on the shores of Lake Texcoco, coming from the north. They decided to live on a small marshy island located in the middle of the lake, where they founded the great city of Tenochtitlan in 1325.
With astonishing skill, the Aztecs transformed the swampy island into a thriving city, which in its heyday had at least 200,000 inhabitants.
The Aztecs managed to cultivate the swamp thanks to the chinampa, rectangular floating gardens that they created by shoring the bottom of the lower lake with stakes, and then accumulated mud, lake sediments and decaying vegetation, until the area was filled.
Trees - usually willows - were planted on the corners of the chinampa to strengthen their structure. Around the chinampa, the canals that were created were used to ensure optimal irrigation, but also as communication and navigation routes.
Typical crops were corn, beans, amaranth, tomatoes and chili, but it also happened that only flowers were planted there.
Quetzalcoatl is a deity of pre-Columbian Mexico, patron of priests, symbol of death and resurrection, usually depicted as a Feathered Serpent, hybrid and mythical animal, which in Meso-American cultures represents the cosmic principle of duality: what crawls and what flies , gathered in the same symbol.
The deity of the Feathered Serpent has had a certain importance, both in art and in religion, for almost 2,000 years, from the pre-classical age to the Spanish conquest.
Among the civilizations, which practiced the cult of the Feathered Serpent, there are the Olmecs, the Mixtecs, the Toltecs, the Aztecs and the Maya (Kukulkan).
According to legend, the god Quetzalcoatl (Feathered Serpent) with white skin and a long beard of colored feathers, arrived on Earth with a gift for men, stolen from the gods: a cocoa tree. And men learned to grow cocoa.
Quetzalcoatl taught men to cultivate this precious plant, to reap its fruits, and to grind its seeds to create a fragrant drink, to be flavored with herbs and spices. Under the advice of the Feathered Serpent god, the rain deity Tlaloc and the fertility goddess Xochiquetzal also helped humans benefit from the fruits of the divine plant.
Human and animal sacrifices were an integral part of the Aztec religion, and the warrior's supreme pride was dying in battle or sacrificing himself as a sacrificial victim, although it was often the prisoners who were sacrificed in secondary rites.

For their manuscripts (or codices) in paper or animal skins, of which we have some examples, the Aztecs used pictography. Their complex and accurate calendar was of Mayan origin.
Ometeotl god creator

Amimit god of lakes

Atl god of water

Atlacoya goddess of drought

Centeotl god of corn

Coyolxauhqui goddess of the moon

Huitzilopochtli god of the sun

Tonatiuh sun god

Mextli god of war

Quetzalcoatl god of arts and knowledge

Tezcatlipoca god of the night, magic and deception

Tlaloc god of rain

Tlazolteotl goddess mother earth

Xipe Totec god of rebirth after death

Xiuhtecuhtli god of fire

Xolotl god of lightning

Cipactli monster in the form of a crocodile that inhabited the earth before creation

Tlahuixcalpantecuhtli was the morning star or Venus

Mictlantecuhtli king of the underground world Mictlan.
In a previous life I was an Aztec queen and I had a twin brother who was a warrior, and who I have known in my current life. It is very nice for me to remember that past life but also painful, because at the beginning my twin brother did not believe me and it was bad that he did not remember. But then thanks to dreams he realized that we had really lived in that land and we were brothers and lovers.


Thanks for the dreams come true and pull yourself out of a drawer thanks for all this for making me touch the sky with a finger sometimes for pushing me to never give up always try again for teaching me that I can even do it alone for clarified situations for the moonlight.
Thanks for the dreams launched into the sky hoping that they will come true for the strength that I have lost and that I have always found again to keep fighting not to give up.
Thanks for all those times I thought I didn’t know how to go on, but I did it for severe pain when the world collapsed on my shoulders thank you very much, because sometimes even that has helped me to grow thanks for the words that I have never lost because sometimes they were poems.
Thanks for the summer sunsets for the spring skies for dawns at seven in the morning for this winter too cold but not too dull because I allowed a ray of sunshine to enter and it was enough to make me reborn to make me go back to the same as always. And thanks, yes because for the first time I was my only ray and I love myself at least a little and at least a little I am not afraid of anything.
Thanks for the courage to have let go that there was to let go and thanks for the strength to keep with me who is there to keep even if far away.
Thanks life even if sometimes you really sucked but thank you for making me born again because you haven’t made me forget certain eyes because my heart hasn’t stopped beating for those I love to die for and to live and
thanks for the love too what I started feeling for myself what I have never stopped feeling for others who is tired now disappointed but always strong and combative.
Thank you for scratches for the beautiful mouths to live for the kisses that make you live for perfumes that don’t go away
And when I’m quiet doing my thing, it always occurs to you to surprise me with a kiss on the cheek, making a thousand emotions explode in me. Then I close my eyes, to savor that kiss again and to engrave it in my memory. I always think, sooner or later, I will need it. And this is a fantastic sign, it means that there is hope, that beautiful things can happen even when you don’t expect them anymore. Yes, maybe there are always beautiful things waiting for you, maybe the opportunities aren’t over, maybe even when your horizon is flat and deserted and you think there is nothing left to see, here are the surprises that pop out of nowhere and can overwhelm life. Who sends the waves to the shore because he knows that you are sitting there and looking at the horizon.


It takes peaceful thoughts to clear the air, from fears, from distances, to cultivate new life.
It takes climbers of good thoughts.
Bellies full of beautiful things to feel close to us. Breath is needed.
Vigilant, with bated breath, at nightfall.
The contours slowly fade,
Swallowed by the anxious awakening of memory.
Veils of violet and blue arrive
at the appointment with my heart in my throat,
chased and canceled
from a black man who is never satiated.
Only now, with firm steps,
the king of magicians will enter the scene:
it will steal your eyes
and will repeat the trick over and over.
Everything is a color.
Each emotion is a color.
Silence is white.
In fact, white is a color I can’t stand:
it has no borders.
To spend a sleepless night, go blank,
raise the white flag,
leave the blank sheet,
have a blond hair …
In fact, white isn’t even a color.
It is nothing, like silence.
A nothing without words and without music.
In silence: in white.
Each violet like a break in the sky
a company of clouds in bloom.
They bloom at sunset inside the sea.
Do you ever give people a color?

I do and sometimes I am amazed at how some can have all the shades of that color. Thus there is a midnight blue that manages to turn into a crystalline blue of dawn. A powder pink, only apparently insignificant, but always comforting, always the same. An emerald green, an orange that can be dark, a sand color, a gray as smart and brilliant as a cat, but just as soft and to caress (even if it hides it well). Then a fuchsia, an Irish grass green, a sunny yellow that can brighten as much as it burns, an unashamed red and even an olive green. A purple ... which sometimes looks like me so much, even if we are often the exact opposites and we take each other by the hand to give each other a different tone.

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