escribirte el silencio.

.

I can't go through all this.

Why do you say that?

I can't!

Why?

Because I wanted to be a writer, that's all.

So?

I wanted to write about it all.

Everything that happens in a moment.

The way the flowers look when you carry them in your arms.

This towel - how it smells , how it feels...

it's thread.

All our feelings - yours and mine.

The history of it.

Who we once were.

Everything in the world.

Everything all mixed up.

Like it's all mixed up now.

And I failed.

I failed.

No matter which you start up with, it ends up being so much less.

Sheer fucking pride!

And stupidity.

We want everything, don't we?

I suppose we do.

-Richard a Clarissa, 'The Hours' (2002)