Oh, sweet love, tell me old stories of old longings. A warm, embroided apparatus of lost passions and dearest friends who have gone mad flattered by the bosom of time – where are they now? I miss them. I miss you, sweet Catarina. Have you married someone who can carry his own particular anguish in his own refracted shadow? A personal shadow. A personal war. I’ve architected a thing where you could coax the world, but I then swallowed the key.
