Yes, that’s certain, that event, that crime, that infinitesimal pulsation that rises inside one, reverberates, re-echoes, really hurts, before withering away and perishing in the form of words.
J.M.G. Le Clezio.
I’m beginning to know myself. I don’t exist.
I’m the gap between what I’d like to be and what others have made of me,
Or half this gap because there is also life…
That’s me. Period.
Turn off the light, shut the door, and get rid of the slipper noise in the hallway.
Leave me alone in my room with the vast peace of myself.
Its a shoddy universe.