“ People are like chains, the closer they are, the stronger they become. ”
There is a period for hope and one for mourning.
~ Federico Chini
Writing is like sculpturing words out of a block of imagination. Sentences chisel the story, then characters make it their own.
If the private life of the sea could ever be transposed onto paper, it would talk not about rivers or rain or glaciers or of molecules of oxygen and hydrogen, but of the millions of encounters its waters have shared with creatures of another nature.
The loss of a loved one is like the loss of a part of oneself; an arm or a leg. At first, the pain is so physical that it is hard to ignore. The trauma is so intense that the mind finds it hard to cope with the loss. With time the pain eases, the body recovers and the brain figures out new ways to go on.
