Metallic Taste In Mouth After Wisdom Surgery

MEDAL



MEDAL

fresh morning and ended that winter that filled me with nostalgia. My watch marked a quarter to seven in five minutes to get to the train station and went his way until seven o'clock, not in a hurry and walked more slowly. The streets of the development of the people were lonely, from time to time only some car left the garage to march on the road to Madrid, about 50 miles distant. Wrapped in my coat, I looked the whitewashed houses jutting above the encircling walls, most of them covered or Arizona cypress hedges to protect the privacy of its inhabitants. I liked the mountain village where John and I had bought a small house when we decided to get married. It was quiet and pretty, very pretty, surrounded by the Andes mountain range whose peaks could be seen completely white in winter because of snow, offering a much desired peaceful moments after the daily bustle of a big capital.
Arriving at the station guard me in the waiting room and sat on the uncomfortable iron bench as he approached the hour of departure of the train that took me to Madrid. It was my daily trip to my work address. Juan came half an hour before me and picked up the car he used in his profession, we planned our lives and relatively happy marriage.
The time it took the train to reach the capital, was a relaxing time spent on giving free rein to my thoughts. That morning, did not know why I was sad, melancholy, memories of times past, had taken possession of me.
accommodated in the window seat, my mind began to dwell on the past and figure Arthur Crisp appeared insistent with his mischievous grin. We dated for two years, during two happy years ended sadly. His image appeared to me as if he were present, smiling, young, sweet, always positive, expected much from life, never thought anything negative to him, everything had a nice solution.
Instinctively my fingers stroked the gold medal hanging around my neck. Gave me when we formalized our relationship, we would get married next year, so we decided, but that never came. One day, he appeared downcast, sad eyes and told me that his company had gone bankrupt, remained without work and without compensation of any kind. Arturo had no family, lived alone and kept to his hard-won career after leaving a state school for young people without resources. But he was a fighter and an optimist, yes. However, the economic situation was very bad and unemployment increased daily while businesses closed their doors. The months went by without getting a job and was doomed to seek help from social charities.
At that same time, fate put John on my way. I presented some office mates and got along. It was a serious man, not a boy, almost ten years older than me, me I felt protected from the very beginning and love of Arthur began to decrease almost without being conscious.
Throughout my life I had often wondered if love so nice that vanished because of the negative economic materialism and that made me feel selfish because something inside me answered affirmatively. But at the same time, the justification for changing the character of Arthur, came to my aid. So compelling that joy, became, little by little, a sadness that I was harrowed, and I began to feel unhappy at his side. No longer laughing, he was forced to sell his car to survive and began despair. We could not go to the movies, or dinner, or to travel on Sunday near Madrid because he did not allow me to take charge of their spending until, one afternoon, after that John was invited to spend a weekend in his company, I decided to break our relationship. He said nothing, not angry, I asked for explanations, I just looked intently into his eyes and saw his own beautifully brown, a gulf of sad disappointment.
Since then he had seen him and had already spent a few long years. That spring will meet the fourth anniversary of my marriage to John. The warning beep to close the doors of the train I turned wing reality. We had already spent a few seasons and I saw the figure of a man who, at that time, had boarded the train. Something familiar from its appearance prompted me to notice him and my heart sank. No doubt, it was Arthur. Thinner, a bit scruffy and unshaven, unshaven. Very seriously, I felt nervous, shifty eyes, observed on either side from the platform of the car and suddenly I saw was addressing violence against passengers. In his hand, shone a knife and demanded of them, threatening him everything of value handed carry, phones, jewelry, watches was talking in a bag. To reach me, I offered the medal snatched from my hand, looked at me and I read face the astonishment of the meeting. He paused for a moment undecided, I saw him turn red and his eyes filled with horror and shame. He threw the medal on my lap and ran away into another car, the reviewer was fast approaching in the company of a couple of security guards with the gun in his hand.
The train came to a station but the doors remained closed until it was completely stopped. I looked out the window and saw him go down to the platform jump and run at the same time heard a shot and fell to the ground with a strange gesture. It struck me as someone friendly, I would have slapped too hard on the back. The
security guards and the conductor came running while the phone in his hand made a call. Before the train back to close their doors and continue to its destination, I saw one of the guards approached his fallen body on the pavement of the platform. Made a negative motion with her head and people swirling slowly to see what was happening, were brought before me. The train moved off and continued to travel while I stood, again, the medal around his neck. Stroked it with my fingers while a tear fell on the image of that adorned her virgin. MAGDA

Shikakai Amla To Darken Hair

Note for the reader:

With the switch to first person in the last two para-
results, try to give more closeness and intimacy at the end
history.
I hope the readers' understanding.







FACED LOVE HIM .-



The black moon night inspired mystery, silence. The heart, no light to illuminate the nooks and crannies where they hide feelings of love, crushing his chest with an inexplicable feeling of suffocation. I could not understand it senses subdued. Anyone unthinking affection overflowed any attempt to sanity. He loved her deeply and did not admit any other consideration. He was ready to get on and off, in spite of everything, but did not know how to act. The words were useless verbiage did not surrender his purpose. He said simply: "No! All over," and walked away without allowing a moment of reflection.
burned the letter in his pocket. From time to time put his hand to touch the paper, like a caress the beloved. She soon the program would be his white hands, between your hands beautiful. Read their letters, think of his words. And perhaps, would shed a tear to understand their error. I wanted to believe. He must have known he could not live without it, have her side, hearing their laughter, without smelling the perfume of her body. And stroked letter greed jealous lover. No, not allowed to walk away from his side. Without it you could not breathe, breathe. It was his life, his land, heaven and hell, your everything. He had delivered from the first moment he met her. He seized him, completely absorbed fused into a single being and now abandoned like an old toy. "No! All over," he said, turned around and left. With those words disappeared from his heart chest leaving a huge void, a blackness unable to illuminate with any logical reasoning, just pain.
left the road to the lights of solitary walk. The cold night invited the gathering and walked slowly under the streetlights illuminated the banks of the boulevard, the floor was studded with the yellow leaves of the trees that were stripping her green dress. Occasionally, the sound of a car, swiftly, with dazzling lights, he surpassed. In the corner, he spotted the yellow receptacle post. He drew the letter from his pocket and with trembling hand, inserted it into the mailbox. When back, tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt confused, somewhat humbled and repented but I could not retrieve the letter. She soon, read those painful words begging love.








ELLA .- The moon was rising the day we met. Their eyes met in a sidelong glance he kept forcing her to be the first to change the view. Her large, dark eyes, an attractive figure, moderately high, with some pride that he later discovered was an overcoming shyness, filled with admiration.
So began the words, the deal calls, chance encounters that were not and end the statement. I love you, "he said, and repeated:" I love you, Paula. That second statement was the one that upsets the balance of affection. He won his heart for high score. Do not know why. When analyzed, was aware that the mere pronunciation of his name added to the loving phrase, was what led to the assertion. Then she left wanting. He was young, he had found love, a love that's flattering, was considered the queen of the world could it all. There were tears in his eyes, if anything, only joy, life was beautiful, the sun shone even in the darkest corners, everything was jubilant ... And got carried away by feelings misleading until he reached the other.
never could explain why he changed his whole being. The other was not looking to worship only with care, studying ... but that attention let her feelings bare, as if ripped his clothes making her feel vulnerable. It was the opposite of him. Serious, discreet ... did not absorb their time, let him go slowly, waiting for the right moment that left to chance. And little by little, he won his love. A deep love never experienced before.
The day she confessed her feelings, she was willing and her body trembled as the petals of a freshly cut rose. And from that moment belonged to forever.





OTHER

.- The full moon lit up the sky and the earth with the light stolen from the sun. The night was day, the darkness does not exist. The shine was shining my lonely soul. Never felt that impression. I saw her sitting with her hands folded on her lap, blonde, delicate. It looked like a nineteenth-century lady rescued from a painting by Pierre Auguste Renoir, with his mane on the shoulders and the look in flight is not known what dreams. I loved from the first moment I saw her. Quiet, slightly sad. Smooth ... I did not know how to approach it, the fear of being rejected, curtailed my decision, however, knew that should tell if he would miss the opportunity.
told me I had a boyfriend but when introduced into the depths of his eyes, I discovered a buried sadness she kept coming to the surface of his thoughts. Not love him. I knew as I read in her eyes the feeling of confusion and a hint of pain when he saw my look on theirs. Something supernatural told us both that we were together for life, forever ...
That rainy afternoon, I approached from behind and grabbed her umbrella to shelter both the stream of water hitting on the extended fabric. I held her by the elbow, she looked at me and smiled. My soul was flooded with a satisfaction never known before. It was a wonderful feeling of fullness, to be me in full. As if having met her before, I was missing something, was only half, incomplete ... that was the right word ... before it was incomplete. Now, with her by my side we were one whole, her and me. Soul mates, mutual love. Total binding.
And I loved her.





SON .-

-waning moon, "she said, looking drawn piece of moon in the sky blue of the night.
At that moment I knew the decline of his love. The son was in bed, sleeping peacefully. Was an extension of myself for what was it? "He asked. Since its birth ... .. not before, since he had the knowledge that lived inside her, he loved with a love that defied description. A love that stole some of mine, the part that had always belonged to me and, now, and shared with that stem from our leafy tree, evergreen, flowering ... or so I thought I had. I looked at the crib
piece of meat that our sleeping soundly and I was filled with a tenderness that does not know if it was love or simple surrender to that being defenseless that needed our care, and when I went to seek the understanding, share his eyes, I found a love that knew no extinguished if either divided, yes, but tilting the balance pan newcomer to the child. And suffered. -------------------


I had been with me for nine months. I loved him before he was formed, when it was still a drop of blood, when his heart was only a starting point to beat. It was mine, my flesh, my being, my thoughts, my ideas ... Then, little by little, I realized that was also part of it. He also belonged to him when I had my arms, my whole beef was touched by that being perfect in its structure to which I had given life, and I felt a love so deep that hurt me in pulses, in the soul. At the time, knew the feeling of true love.
He watched me, the frustration in his eyes. I smiled, I loved him why did he fear? He had discovered that my love for the child was stronger and deeper than any other love. I grieved. I left the boy asleep in his crib, then I went to him. I hugged him, felt her strength of man, his passion. Understood. For me it was not the lover ... was the father, and my love had changed, he shared with that child to seize the largest piece of my heart, deeper the more eternal. He said .. "I love you, love you forever, but my love for you is subject to change, you understand. Know that you never forget but it is my own flesh, the life of my life and love beyond any emotion. You, you're part of it and so you still love in him, as you like, in that half yours "
I watched with tears in his eyes, stroked my cheek and left my side. - Magda.

Brazilian Wax In Madison ,wi

FACED LOVE "THE THEATRE THE WORLD HISTORY OF A BREAK


WORLD THEATRE

(Reflection)


I know that this title may seem like a copy of Grand Auto Sacramental "The Great Theatre of the world" no less magnificent writer Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca, but emulating the distinguished writer and, of course, saving the huge distances between him and me, (I hope readers will forgive me all this daring), is a phrase that has come to my mind at the time to peek this morning at the window and admire the scenery.
I'm very lucky because both from one end or another of the balcony of my home, my view is presented to a wide horizon and beautiful is the inspiration or muse of these writings of mine on the nature, so frequent, and today, the words that have come to mind when contemplating the landscape, have been these: "The theater of the world" And I'll explain why.
In the distant line where the sky meets the earth, saw a more or less perfect square of red light that gradually turn pink and I thought: "Are the lights on the stage" like you expect to begin the function and, impatient we do not lose detail, to see the lights going up in tone, we know that immediately, descorrerá the curtain and start the scene. So I thought the day.
Immediately I got the question: "If we who populate this world, in the famous work of Don Pedro Calderón, we are the actors who work to my humble opinion and ignoring the work of Calderon, can be the director and who are the spectators? "And I kept thinking, and imagining as he watched the beautiful dawn. Gradually, as the lights of the room and started the function. First slowly, until the stage was lit up completely. "Wake up the day. Everything is looking forward pending the start, succeed scenes, dialogue that ultimately lead us to the nub of the story where everyone plays their role. The director, always careful that the strings are properly developed and if an actor make a mistake, the scolding was swift: "be careful because the next time you run out of paper."
Well, we suspect he may be the director. This mysterious being we call God, energy, power, or light-even science, supernatural, superior or unknown, which is who or what we put on this earth. We need to know who are those that are part of the public and enjoy or criticize our actions, and there's certainly more intense. Who buys two tickets to see the work? "He asked.
After pondering for a while, I concluded that humans themselves can be both actors as viewers of course! In the world there are many plays, not just one. We join in groups to form stories, plays in which we participate as a few others, we watch and comment our actions. And that sometimes, we are part of the public, while other works are actors, and so we are learning and interacting with each other. Then I thought: What the world is well done! Whoever you have created, had to get to know the beauty, wisdom, order and love because these things are always present in the daily drama that is life, the rest is part of the interpretation of each actor, characteristics of declamatory, the plot of the play that touches on luck, the errors committed in their actions and should be rectified ... the better or worse interpretation of other actors who followed him, the stage, more or less comfortable or uncomfortable in which you have to act ... And so, in this complicity of actor / audience, performed better or worse, develop the work of life.
And most importantly we have Who is the author of works? In the book of our famous writer, is God but, in my view, I think everyone should have the power to put the author, the name that you like. (For the record they want changed is not the Don Pedro Calderón flat God save me from such daring!). Yes, you can call it God, destiny, fate, freedom, dependence ..., etc. There are plenty of names to choose from and each has their own taste.
I put the name of "LIFE" and, while waiting for the start of my daily actions, I will continue enjoying the scenery from my window every morning. Then go into the scene.
will conclude this reflection with verses of Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca in his masterpiece "THE GREAT THEATRE OF THE WORLD" for all remember:

For this, common flock
I will, from the poor to the King, to amend the

to wander and teach those who know not,
with the pointer, to my law;
it all
tell you what you have to do