Ya no es época de pamelas. No sé muy bien si se las ha llevado el verano o si fue Lady Di después de su accidente de coche.
La cuestión es que mi querido invierno llega de sopetón a la capital y hace que Londres no parezca tan frío. Además, adentrarse en el laberinto de las mil mantas y el chocolate caliente le hace a uno sentirse en casa, aunque la esté guardando en cajas ahora mismo.
Richard regarded his solitude as something sacred, as a well earned badge of honor. A cloak, to be worn to ward off life. As his safety. Solitude is who he was. This caused those in his life to view him with a barely veiled conptempt. Richard was certain that he was not liked, which is hard on a man. Maybe it was because he gave nothing that he received nothing in return. In any case, his situation had become intolerable. The closest things he had to friends were either imaginary or extinct. Richard reached a point in his life when this was no longer enough. And then she met a girl. And she was warm, and she was sad, and maybe she was lonely in a way that reminded him of himself. She had lost things that a girl should never have lost. And she knew things, and she taught him. And Richard thought, maybe this is what friendship feels like. Maybe.