by Atma Anna Christakou


What then is a waste of time?

Sitting around doing nothing for days without end or running around like crazy to accomplish some?

What is a waste of time then when life passes and the moments of sorrow are so much like happiness?

Then what is this life?

Sleep dream awake on the tight rope of desire?

when everything concludes to a somersault into the inconceivable ?

he said: how can I talk to you after so many years of silence

and she said : oh darling there is no language for loss


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