Death is like a breakup. Survivors are thirsty. Desires confused with memories long for a place to be. Something stays incomplete. — Today I am mending my heart, knowing I’ll soon hand the keys of my family house to the buyers. I spent most of the afternoon inside this place
I once read about a writer who went to assist an autopsy. All her life she had been an atheist but having seen all the tiny connections of a dead human body ‘made her rethink about the possibility of an existing God‘ – she wrote. We are literally inhabiting a magical box. I remember
I read my last blog post while a shy smile appears on my face. I feel that in a mere temporal space of 20 days, my life has literally been thrown inside a washing machine while the spinning button is stuck on the maximum power. I am writing through a
10 years after, I didn’t stop loving you and I won’t just because it can’t happen. Not even a single day.
Dear friend, It’s funny as you are not my friend, you’ve never been. I don’t have words for you. I have been putting random words on this piece of an e-paper for the past 60 seconds, but the reality is that I will never write to you because I don’t