What happens in your childhood does not stay in your childhood. It drives you to the Market, and buys the clothes that as a child you stole. Sleeping next to fields of red cotton. I want to awaken from this dream, because there is still no room for dancing. And my knuckles are always white. It’s in the imagery of your relationships. And to whom you invite over for tea. It’s in the notations that I make in my Journal, all of this.

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