writing to you is like writing on a blank page which magically will soak in all the
words and become blank again. So there is only blank.Writing to you is addressing
a blank within me. Tracing a line from your forehead down to your lips and then to
your heart which is warm and cruel like the enigma of oxymoron and I want to nestle there like sweet poison, corked and carefully preserved.
But can one learn to live? Can living be learnt from experiment and sameness,
passion and in