espartamodels

Long gone are our nights at the Opera Hotel in Kyiv, where we used to stop until the next day we set off on our trip to the Crimea. Those nights without noise, only interrupted by the discreet and friendly chatter of the diners and our glances of lovers that drowned out the noise of the silverware on the plates, at that secluded table that was always reserved for us, in front of a window illuminated by the dim lights of the street lamps.