The truth is, Valentine's is great for those of us who watch. But there's a thorn on every rose.
A while has transpired between then and now.
Too much happened too fast, like a plot twist in a book. But unlike the reader, I can't go back a few pages to reread and understand what happened.
We've become so comfortable in our own lack of safety having accepted danger as just a daily thing.
With my headphones on my head I'm moving forward, one day at a time.
I am in step with time and I think that time is surprised, not me.
Now in this city I live in a lonelyhood of numerous ambitious people, some like me, some very different from me but all of us questioning our presence.
Impossibility is sort of phantasmagoria and we go after it not knowing what it is.
The library is made by its readers and the writers.
In small squares of sticky paper, we write notes to ourselves, it's a private conversation deemed irrelevant with time and isn't that our existence?