Do we spend most of our days trying to remember or to forget? Do we spend most of our time running towards or away from our lives?

***A Last note from your narrator*** I am haunted by humans.

I'm just another stupid human.

Very quickly, very suddenly, words fell through my mind. They landed on the floor of my thoughts, and in there, down there, I started to pick the words up. They were excerpts of truth gathered from inside me.

I'm not the messenger at all. I'm the message.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.