Living isn't courage, knowing that you're living, that's courage

I write to save someone's life, probably my own

But don't forget, in the meantime, that this is the season for strawberries. Yes.

I' is merely one of the world's instantaneous spasms.

I hear the mad song of a little bird and crush butterflies between my fingers.

I work only with lost and founds.

I want the following word: splendor, splendor is fruit in all its succulence, fruit without sadness. I want vast distances. My savage intuition of myself.