Meanwhile With The Help Of An Anecdote

Water Is The Exile, Carried Back In Cans And Flasks, The Ghost Between Your Hands And Your Mouth.

He Has Been Disassembled By Her. And If She Has Brought Him To This, What Has He Brought Her To?

It's A Discovery Of A Story When I Write A Book, A Case Of Inching Ahead On Each Page And Discovering What's Beyond In The Darkness, Beyond Where You're Writing.

I See Myself As Someone Who's Been Saved By Writing. God Knows What I Would Have Been, Become Or How I Would Have Ended Up Without It.

There Is A Story, Always Ahead Of You. Barely Existing. Only Gradually Do You Attach Yourself To It And Feed It. You Discover The Carapace That Will Contain And Test Your Character. You Will Find In This Way The Path Of Your Life.