How fragile we are, between the few good moments.

As water given sugar sweetens, given salt grows salty, we become our choices.

You work with what you are given, the red clay of grief, the black clay of stubbornness going on after.

It doesn’t matter what they will make of youor your days: they will be wrong,they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man,all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention.Your story was this: you were happy, then you were sad,you slept, you awakened.

Here is a soul, accepting nothing.