No One Knows The Author Of Memoir

I Tried To Continue, But Somehow My Throat Made Up Its Mind To Swallow – Though I Can’t Think What I Was Swallowing, Unless It Was A Little Knot Of Emotion I Pushed Back Down Because There Was No Room In My Face For Any More.

You Seemed So Desperate, Like You Might Drown If Someone Didn't Save You.

Now I Know That Our World Is No More Permanent Than A Wave Rising On The Ocean. Whatever Our Struggles And Triumphs, However We May Suffer Them, All Too Soon They Bleed Into A Wash, Just Like Watery Ink On Paper.

Geisha Is Always Called Beautiful Even If She Is Not.

Grief Is A Most Peculiar Thing; We’re So Helpless In The Face Of It. It’s Like A Window That Will Simply Open Of Its Own Accord. The Room Grows Cold, And We Can Do Nothing But Shiver. But It Opens A Little Less Each Time, And A Little Less; And One Day We Wonder What Has Become Of It.