I write short, my words tight to the thread of the narrative.

The most painful and jealously guarded secrets are perhaps the ones that everyone around us knows. Stupid tragedies. Useless tears.

That profound night freedom was agreeable and exciting.

When I left, I had learnt nothing. I took nothing with me. At least, that's what I thought then.

I write short, my words tight to the thread of the narrative.

I was realizing, for the first time, that everything goes on, turns gray, is ruined in the living. That there is no end to our story until death comes and the body decays.

It was the first time I traveled alone, but I was not scared.