If the white light of this lamp
is real, and real
the hand that writes,
are the eyes real
that look at what I write?

One word follows another.
What I saw vanishes.
I know that I am alive,
and living between two parentheses.

Octavio Paz
(translation JM Cohen)

Nothing is like we think it is. Michael... this is for you (with all my heart)


Kim said…
Belinda, this is beautiful. I found your blog (through a post you left at Messyjessie) and am so enjoying your words and your art. I will visit you often, to be sure. I invite you to visit my blog sometime.

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