With one too many things hurrying me forward, writing is one that I can savour. Publications here are intended for no one – or for someone which I hope they never will read it.
With a little child on tip-toe puffing his chest trying to be an adult; and an old man incessantly calling his grandchildren trying to share their youth: words here are words of candor masked aloof with nonchalance and eloqence, words that are out of place but in sync with a stranger.