She had a history of mood, blackouts, and hearing voices.
When the little girl asked her the meaning of dying, she said that this is a return to the place we came from.
The little girl was staring at the dead bird.
Someone has to die for us to value life more?
There is such a mystery when a woman comes through a glass door, looking like she is still asleep, and with a sort of soft shoes and a cigarette between her fingers, comes in our direction and only says: “I think I have the first sentence for my novel; it is possible to die.
This is for my other side, my other soul, my other me. This is for the one I adore.
