I&#39;m not so vain as to believe that my involvement changes anything whatsoever.

I care about strangers when they're abstractions but feel almost nothing when they are literally in front of me. They seem like unnamed characters in a poorly written novel about myself, which was poorly written by me.

Jaiva  La Jaiva color de violeta acecha en un rincon del mar: sus tenazas son dos enigmas: su apetito es un agujero.  Luego agoniza su armadura en la sopera del infierno y ahora no es mas que una rosa: la rosa roja comestible.

Written By Anastasia purea

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