Had I only known my lettersWould be of such importanceI’d empty myself on paperEvery single morning’And it was for such reason,as she read his little stanza,that she decided to stamponefinalletter:‘Every single morningI’d empty myself on paperYou were my greater importanceThat’s why I wrote you letters.

All mothers breed dead children.They shall, perhaps, live later.When no longer dead, they are bornNot—by coincidence, by choice.

Lonely you linger in a league above poetry.

Some find freedom in comfortothers find comfort in freedom

What differentiated us was our perception of our mutual reality, which made no difference.

I shall have my lasso, I shall lead the course;I recognize it’s time to mount a different horse.

No man has the courage to approach her or initiate questions she herself rise, for all men fear a fascist and she can very well be a fascist’s wife.