So…

… not much.

-void ten-

We love life like death loves us. Eventually, it’s a question of elective affinity.

Framed.

It’s a cold, windy, lonely night, and suddenly a smooth, ruggedy voice whispers in your ear: Pack your memories and leave. Vaya con Dios. Oh, the irony.

-void nine-

Hope is a gruesome incubus.

Excelsior!

Once one achieves the impossible, the possible becomes meaningless.

-void eight-

Remorse is what remains after nothing remains.

Empty spaces.

So sad a pen without ink, a station without a train, a world without a future.

-void seven-

There is no absolute darkness but in the soul of an angel.

Motivational.

-void six-

I have no words to describe my silences.