Just passing through this platform, will go to another one.

I begin early to throw letters. It  seems I'm not the only one that does, but I am the only one putting a name to them.

Well, I did not just start to write now. That much you know.

I remain puzzled, and see many possible readings, each with so many interpretations for the answers you won't (or can't) give.


Many different combinations of entry and profile, it is easy to loose one's own mind, and maybe I already reached that juncture, who knows?

I can only go on as I have, trying to live as though my part in your life is well and truly over.

At least, I have to pretend that whilst I still have no answer. The silence does not give one.

I cannot bring myself to think you so heartless as to do this on purpose, that there must be (and there could well be) another reason for the silence that maims.

Every living minute is of dying. Every single one.