“ She is so distinct to me, it's as though I had run my hands all over her. ”
May I kiss you then? On this miserable paper? I might as well open the window and kiss the night air.
~ Franz Kafka
Yours(now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now: Yours)
The meaning of life is that it stops.
L'éternité, c'est long ... surtout vers la fin.
