25.6.2019

A few days ago I bought the diaries of Virginia Woolf – all five of them published in Finnish. I have never even read novels by this 1900 century (edit: “20th century” I still can’t get this English century bullshit correct…) author but somehow she always appears for me whatever I’m reading or talking with …

What ifs for you

I can’t make you love me, not after all this time. You laugh so lightly for his eyes sparkling like million stars. And I can only smile for your happiness even if somewhere deep inside of me all I think is what ifs. What if I had told you? What if even for a moment …

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