“Being an artist means,
not reckoning and counting, but ripening
like the tree
which does not force its sap
and stands confident
in the storms of spring, without the fear
that after them may come no summer.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
The Sign
I survived. There must be something I need to do in return. You understand, I cannot sleep anymore. I cannot look at the sky in awe, and wish, and wait (…)
I have so much left to cry
I have so much left to cry. Did it occur to you? That perhaps behind those many smiles lies a silence that won’t die. (…)