In My Stories I Can Kiss The

And She Loved A Man Who Was Made Out Of Nothing. A Few Hours Without Him And Right Away She’d Be Missing Him With Her Whole Body, Sitting In Her Office Surrounded By Polyethylene And Concrete And Thinking Of Him. And Every Time She’d Boil Water For Coffee In Her Ground-floor Office, She’d Let The Steam Cover Her Face, Imagining It Was Him Stroking Her Cheeks, Her Eyelids And She’d Wait For The Day To Be Over, So She Could Go To Her Apartment Building, Climb The Flight Of Stairs, Turn The Key In The Door, And Find Him Waiting For Her, Naked And Still Between The Sheets Of Her Empty Bed.

If You Want To Learn How To Be Happy, You Have To Know What Is Sadness First.

If We're A Family And Your Brother Wishes You Death, It's Not A Very Happy Family.

Even As A Very Young Man, I Knew That My Family Is Like A Plant. Uproot It, And It Will Wilt. Pluck Away At It, And It Will Die. But Leave It To Thrive In The Soil, Untouched, And It Will Weather Both Gods And Winds. It Is Born With The Soil, And It Will Live So Long As The Soil Shall Live.

I've Always Had A Very Developed Superego. I Also Had A Very Powerful Id, But There Was No Ego In The Middle. So Writing Was Always Like Letters Sent From The Id To The Superego, Saying, "what's Going On Here?" What I Loved About Writing Was That I Was Totally Weightless. I Was Amazed At The Fact That I Could Be Myself Without Being Afraid That Anyone Would Get Hurt.