How much sea breeze and salt in the veins of a sailor, and scent of madness, melancholy, play, wonder! My lost childhood I look for it everywhere. Even in her eyes or in the big eyes of a child. I look for it in a still, sunny afternoon, in the smoke of a train, in a white road of stones, in a scent, a colour. Love is neither fire nor sweetness: it is only a thread that can go far.
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