lost everytime the sun turns orange.
I have packed my bags once more, but if you whisper my name to the wind
, I will tell you where I have drifted off. You can tell me secret, a confession, anything. I'm still all ears.
I have kept pent-up feelings and let it out here, in forms of words and photos and everything else.
He who truly loves, is slow to forget.
— No idea. (En Español: “Quien bien ama, tarde olivia.”)