I Do Realize That The Reader Needs

In The Beginning It Was Always The Same. But. I Kept Trying. Then One Day I Accidentally Moved As The Shutter Clicked. A Shadow Appeared. The Next Time I Saw The Outline Of My Face, And A Few Weeks Later My Face Itself. It Was The Opposite Of Disappearing.

Wittgenstein Once Wrote That When The Eye Sees Something Beautiful, The Hand Wants To Draw It. I Wish I Could Draw You.

Now We'd Known Each Other For Two Years, The Side Of My Calf Was Touching His Shins, And His Stomach Was Against My Ribs. He Said, "i Don't Think It's End Of World To Be My Girlfriend." I Opened My Mouth, But Nothing Came Out. It Took Seven Languages To Make Me; It Would Be Nice If I Could Have Spoken Just One.

That Powers My Desire To Write: The Sense Of How Quickly Everything On The Surface Of Life Can Be Cut Away And You Can Suddenly Be Inside The Most Inner Part Of The Most Inner Life Of A Person. What Does It Feel Like There, And What Are The Regrets And Sensations And Longings, And What Is The Music Of It?

I Like To Think The World Wasn't Ready For Me, But Maybe The Truth Is That I Wasn't Ready For The World. I've Always Arrived Too Late For My Life.