The night is false, sometimes the night is.
Sometimes I let myself be part of it, you see, I am a coward.
We let ourselves into the garden; how grandeur, how want. The lost soft supple abstract.
“And the saddest and most tormenting thing of all: one stopped writing, yes, but one never stopped thinking about writing, about what one would write if one were able to put it in writing.”
Rodrigo Fresán | The Remembered Part
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