She really has a thin face, dull Discrete and eyes, giving it less shiny and more charm. A face with delicate features, straight nose and short of a child, and a joie de vivre that seems to say his whole body. His whole being is delighted, pleased, radiant, exalted, and turned toward the sky. Never did his eyes is below the horizon, never his face keeps smiling at life. Loved by all sides, by the photographer lover who glorifies him as a little as he can. You must see to hold a child in his arms and understand how their happiness is contagious. The little finger of the hand caressing the sky in which she bathed, drunk with ecstasy. If in a group you can not recognize because of his turban touareg, look for the most smiling or only a smile, it will be her. If in a group of worldly and beautiful women you think it is the least luminous, that it is the fairest of them all, but also more discreet. And that it is embodied in nature to the fullest. On the dunes or in the waves, camel or on horseback, dressed or undressed, his soul exults, his gaze enhances the Sun, while her face is full of light. There she smiled all that exists and passes to everything she touches his voluptuous warmth.
The charm matte rather than shiny brown bland blondes. Swarthy, discreet, monochromatic. But the features safe and mischievous look and give it an accomplice air of candor forgotten. The freshness of a source that feeds only the happiness of being. The lifeblood of a free electron. It forward, backward, behind her is grace.
Forgive me but I do not deserve you. You're too happy for me. And I've lost the habit. I've never been as happy as you are. You could wither you, to our great misfortune.
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