And everything inside pulsates with life. I tear my hair into a bun, expose my face to the wind... and smile.
Because I have French wine in my bag. And in my head there is only one thought: who should I pour it for today?
I am not one of those who run after a man. I just walk - beautifully, confidently, with hips that make your jaw ache.
And men turn around. They do not know that behind this gait there are evenings in Bordeaux, nights in Venice, kisses in wineries and a piercing "I miss you" at 3:17 in the morning.
I know how to be light, but with taste. Soft, but with character. I can listen, inspire... and awaken in you what you have forgotten.
Do you want me to pour you a glass, and you will tell me what cities live in your memory?
And who left a mark on you in them?