Loving is a journey with water and with stars, with smothered air and abrupt storms of flour: loving is a clash of lightning-bolts and two bodies defeated by a single drop of honey.
While I'm writing, I'm far away; and when I come back, I've gone.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
The road made wet by the water of August shines like it was cut in full moonlight
He who has nothingโit has been said many timesโhas nothing to lose but his chains.
Two things make a story. The net and the air that falls through the net.