Official I Like My Pontoon And Maybe 3 People Vintage Retro Shirt
Window facing the backyard. The cold breeze of the August night embraces my cheeks. Here, in northern Tehran, the chillness of the night is still awakening. The honeysuckles have pawed and clung to the neighbors’ wall. The bone-white cement on the wall is now brushed with vivid green. A scant number of yellow flowers still hang from the vines. I remember the days I impatiently waited for the young, white flowers to ripen and change color, becoming golden yellow, in my grandfather’s garden. He had revealed their secret to me. If I pinched the yellow flower and pulled out the thin, inner string, a pearl-drop of honey nectar awaited me at the e. I thought I was.
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