Love Is So Small It

Sadness Is Very Close To Hate.

Men Had Always Been The Reciters Of Poetry In The Desert.

In The Desert The Most Loved Waters, Like A Lover's Name, Are Carried Blue In Your Hands, Enter Your Throat. One Swallows Absence.

It's A Responsibility Of The Writer To Get The Reader Out Of The Story Somehow.

Most Of The Time In Our World, Truth Is Just Opinion.