The color red has a story to tell. In the youth in the streets, peelings in the blood of children in the cellars of welcoming Italy and France. Soon, years ago, I realized that I would have followed the scent.
Red is what you tip when your eye goes in search of the particular. It 's the woman who passes and Note no time, with the modesty of a child who hides behind the mother's skirt, or the one that whistles in an impertinent, preferring the evidence of passion to the subjugation of those who look with wonder. Red is the tip of the fire, the desire for revenge that goes flipping through a newspaper. The purest love, precious ruby \u200b\u200bwhich does not pass through the eye.
E 'in the same way the color of the cup that fills up, flashing his throat a drop at a time. The veins leaving flow and the heart and monitor the heats, but a red so you can not detach.
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