
The love that is born, grows, disintegrates. And the courage to write about it in a unconventional way
The love that is born, grows, disintegrates. And the courage to write about it in a unconventional way There was a period even too far in which we began to breathe the smell of stale: always the same voices with few original ideas, poor desire to get involved, perhaps, trust in the debutants reduced to the light (which then who ...








