Sadness Is Very Close To Hate.

A Man In A Desert Can Hold Absence In His Cupped Hands, Knowing It Is Something That Feeds Him More Than Water.

Come. We Must Go Deeper With No Justice And No Jokes.

I Want To Die On Your Chest But Not Yet She Wrote Sometime In The 13th Century Of Our Love

Moments Before Sleep Are When She Feels Most Alive, Leaping Across Fragments Of The Day, Bringing Each Moment Into The Bed With Her Like A Child With Schoolbooks And Pencils. The Day Seems To Have No Order Until These Times, Which Are Like A Ledger For Her, Her Body Full Of Stories And Situations.

A Novel Is A Mirror Walking Down A Road