I escape thorns and live in the sun.

The smell of prickly pears and myrtle is in the air. The green cacti are background to delicate, pale pink flowers. I look at the sun and I surprise myself asking how many shades of white color are there. Warm and cold, dazzling and soft, intense and indefinite. Salt on the skin, pink jellyfishes floating, and a home by the sea preserving the memories of a young girl playing amid bluebells and heart-shaped leaves. I want to stay here.

Whispers made of sun and salt

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