My Soul Found Ease And

Writing Poetry And Reading Books Causes Brain Damage.

The Fruit Tasted Foreign But Indigenous, Like Sunlight A Tree Had Changed Through Patience.

The Safe Places Could Only Be Visited; They Could Only Grant A Momentary Intuition Of Sanctuary. The Moment Always Came When We Had To Return To Our Real Life To Face The Wounds And Grief Indigenous To Our Homr By The River.

A Story Untold Could Be The One That Kills You.

The World Of Literature Has Everything In It, And It Refuses To Leave