(image here, passing here ) I remember me I hear them all sitting on the bottom of the head and the fact that they want (and can) keep in mind special parts, details, pain and delight of my thoughts, helps me not to escape anything. There are memories that I browse through the eyes, and I wonder how many things remain in the eye, there are flavors of leather, there are no words, I have no idea that words are still hanging from the lobes and sometimes mix with the hair or stretch the neck, I protect the neck from the wind. I remember words. Spoken or written, are there for me.
And then. And then the other day fishing from the small library room of my bag of memories of a few years ago. Turquoise bag that reads Debenhams - Britain's Favourite Department Store. Shot on a letter dated September 29, 2003, my parents. A real letter, but the spots of ink are true. And the stamp from 41 cents. Write to me that maybe I'll have to fight with my shyness, with loneliness. My father adds a Be brave. I started recently and yes, perhaps far enough. And he also says that the feeling that something is missing, an arm to be exact. I remember in these days of sitting inside my head that sometimes help, help myself, covered her up and talk to them, I think of how beautiful and challenging to be the arm of someone. Be from afar. Be the arm of a hand drawing things. Courageous.
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