My Words In Her Mind: Cold Polished

(...) You Cruel Creature, Little Mite Of A Thing With A Heart The Size Of A Fullstop.

What's In A Name? That Is What We Ask Ourselves In Childhood When We Write The Name That We Are Told Is Ours.

No Pen, No Ink, No Table, No Room, No Time, No Quiet, No Inclination.

What's Yours Is Mine And What's Mine Is My Own.

Absence, The Highest Form Of Presence.