“‘Mother, why do you not stay still when I would embrace you? If we could throw our arms around one another we might find sad comfort in the sharing of our sorrows...” (The Odyssey, book 11, trans. Samuel Butler) We can only meet now in stories, living and dead. We cannot speak, we cannot touch,… Continue reading Destini Incrociati
...I was art, you said, you wanted me, And I wanted to call you mine. But you chose another lover, And you let the cup run dry.