Romano flushed cheeks could have competed with the rojigualda.
-
The second time was a spring morning in Bilbao. On the horizon of Mount Umbe, Romano noted the contrast of a pale blue skies and bright green trees and wake up in the wet grass that stretched to every corner from where you can see. He was certainly one of the most beautiful and quiet to which Spain had brought into their country.
At that time had begun to drizzle. Romano had embraced himself loose from his mullidan jacket and jersey, and could not restrain a slight shudder. It was at that moment when the arms of Spain had surrounded him, their foreheads against each other and the same indelible smile. With drooping eyelids, Spain had come to her ear and whispered those words again.
- Maite Zaitut.
- T'estimo . Romano
could remember vaguely how, at the time that Spain had kissed, had seemed to hear applause from the other pedestrians. Red through and through, Romano had buried his face in his shoulder bastard and chose not to see the smirk shared publicly that unexpected, lie Chaplin and himself.
-end-
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