Red Spot With White Middle On Bottom Lip

It 's the first time you are abroad for so long. Although I find London a wonderful city, the distance begins to be felt.
Italy, as that I am missing only the supermarket, stracchino nanni's grandfather and a real pizza. I certainly do not miss the government [again], reform education, communication laziness, weakness of the initiative, the majority of ignorance. I do not miss Italy and even Italians [also because London is full of them].

The distance, however you feel, positive or negative. The downside is that to put it to good "I miss my mother." And what this means for mother's family in your life. I'm not a person of habit is just that sometimes since I'm here, there is insufficient space, my space. You're just always and never are not alone, but often your living space is invaded. Bustle, time running from paranoia [that never fail me], the people themselves, and this happens particularly in Oxford Street.
This city is on the other hand I am a bit 'teaching splash, do not be ashamed to find myself, to erase those things about me that are heavy and sterile and prevent me from growing, and while this happens I try to help me feel at 'height, in my small.
But here there is no family, ever. And if your family calls you, you need a euro to respond. The affection is charged: an installment on your phone bill.
Take a trip like this is a journey inside themselves and do not think you need, not in a moment so real in my life. But I realize now that it probably needs more, not if they can never escape.
Loneliness is the only place where they are at ease in general. But now the solitude weighs on me, but it is only because it has become too crowded. In solitude there is this new me. And as ever with this experience I could know her better, I'm sure most of every moment.

E 'random: Everything. There seems to be nothing concrete, it's like to live in a state of catharsis where nothing makes sense but Everything is extremely important.
What you would need is to stay two minutes to my home in my bed, staring at the ceiling and then come back here. It would be like polishing the glasses through which I see now slightly tarnished. I will not go away, for no reason. But often, especially at night, I wonder the meaning of all this, and although rationally know him very well, I'm afraid of not being able to feel deeply my own.