If everyone seen you like you seen yourself...would they also like the lie --you like to tell?
I am lost in translation, in interrogation, in the soft white fabric that flows in the breeze. How easy it would be to close the book, to resist the last chapter in it's bound pages that is my being. For who would want to read it? A droll tale of nothingness, a fluid representation that is my life, as quickly as a stream it flows past you, and you never glance at that one ripple that is…Continue