Hiding, or prohibir es despertar el deseo

And I wish this post would be about a more luscious theme, but I’m sorry, it’s just about smoking. I’m having a cigarette hiding in my own house, with the window opened, even when its 25 degrees outside. I live in a rental with no balcony, and the contract says I cannot smoke. But tonight I don’t care. I just had a wonderful dinner cooked by Husband, and enjoy a glass of delicious Albariño, a Spanish white wine. But like if I were fifteen again, with my feet hanging from my bedroom’s window, I am hiding.


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