Over time, loneliness gets inside you and doesn't go away.
I hoped my absence made them happy or at least made them forget that they weren't happy and never will be.
One can convert only a sinner, never a saint.
As I walked, I ran my fingers along the spines of hundreds of books. I let myself be imbued with the smell, with the light that filtered through the cracks or from the glass lanterns embedded in the wooden structure, floating among mirrors and shadows.
The truth is what hurts
I quarreled with every word, every phrase and expression, every image and letter as if they were the last I was ever going to write. I wrote and rewrote every line as if my life depended on it, and then rewrote it again.