What Does Air In Your Bladder Mean?

our eyes sparkle - our eyes sparkling

I do not know if I never got to envy the love sometimes excessive some for their mothers, real or imagined, often single women in their lives (or almost). mine, mother, do let me no opportunity. ultimately, she naturally had this undeniable advantage for a son to be somewhat tongue. he seemed apparently essential requirement to produce an impression of constant pain that could not find another manager and his overwhelming ostentatious offspring. I can say that through me she never did nothing but walk around his old wounds of adolescence fly under the compassionate gaze of good people as it should, good judges . I cry sometimes thinking I have to die to awaken his interest, even a little bit of love. exaggerating of course, excess of childhood. I never die in my dreams, and when I came on a bad a little tricky, she top up right away to an aunt in Normandy, ostensibly for the good air, but without concealing that he loathed all forms of pathology and more easements thereto. I also clearly inherited this trait that has always denied being able to play doctor ...
the rest, I do not want him too. everyone has good reasons for being what it is, give of love is not an obligation, especially when it has received so little himself.

through this as I have always been much lower than in the so-called mom . but I needed somewhere perhaps reinvent this link, find a female voice different from what I knew, that I was balanced, reassuring, loving. is the mother of my first friend, who was thus my last childhood friend, who took on the role, a woman open, warm and spontaneous, the symmetrical opposite of mine with whom she discovered in harmony for a mutual loathing, manifest exponential! while one is constantly threatening us with shame and bilious illegal, until this public expiation of sin by the evil, as it seemed in those years become attached, the other sheltered us, we socializing, we brought in full light to freely take our place, there to hear our voice. thanks to her, she opened the door easily, the real world was that we were part, he took the colors, we puisions our strength, our to find models. and the other world, the sanctimonious hypocrites we were critical viewers. those who had given birth to one second Once, my stepmother became my мамочка .

time we formed a little family fun and unusual, lived a nice little couple time beginning with a mother figure, then it was decided that we would run along different paths, yet all three remain very united.
time has passed, a small meal, a concert or a weekend at sea, our little joys, our little excuses to soften the bite. be together.
and then the other night I felt sad and alone and away from when my friend told me that her mother had just died, leaving us the one and love the other shoulder, with our memories orphans.
illustration: Peter Subleyras, Charon passing shadows , oil on canvas, 135x83cm, about 1735, Musée du Louvre, Paris.