You Can't Ever Be Really

An Island Can Be Dreadful For Someone From Outside. Everything Is Complete, And Everyone Has His Obstinate, Sure And Self-sufficient Place. Within Their Shores, Everything Functions According To Rituals That Are As Hard As Rock From Repetition, And At The Same Time They Amble Through Their Days As Whimsically And Casually As If The World Ended At The Horizon.

Christmas Always Rustled. It Rustled Every Time, Mysteriously, With Silver And Gold Paper, Tissue Paper And A Rich Abundance Of Shiny Paper, Decorating And Hiding Everything And Giving A Feeling Of Reckless Extravagance.

She Started Thinking About All The Euphemisms For Death, All The Anxious Taboos That Had Always Fascinated Her. It Was Too Bad You Could Never Have An Intelligent Discussion On The Subject. People Were Either Too Young Or Too Old, Or Else They Didn't Have Time.

All Things Are So Very Uncertain, And That's Exactly What Makes Me Feel Reassured.

I'll Have To Calm Down A Bit. Or Else I'll Burst With Happiness