Something doesn't start at its usual time. Something doesn't happen as it should. Someone was always, always here, then suddenly disappeared and stubbornly stays disappeared.

Something doesn't start at its usual time. Something doesn't happen as it should. Someone was always, always here, then suddenly disappeared and stubbornly stays disappeared.

All the best have something in common, a regard for reality, an agreement to its primacy over the imagination.

My choices are rejections, since there is no other way, but what I reject is more numerous, denser, more demanding than before. A little poem, a sigh, at the cost of indescribable losses.

I'm drowning in papers.

There's simply too much fuss about myself.

No one in my family has ever died of love. What happened, happened, but nothing myth-inspiring.