Before the first before and after the last after, there is night waiting.

Love is almost never simple.

Nothing is made, nothing disappears. The same changes, at the same places, never stopping.

To dream on occasion is not dreaming, To love on occasion is not love.

For a game, you don’t need a teacher.

Tell me something only you know and make a new friend.

We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.