Writing is not cathartic, even though its feeling of release is present; it is not enlightening, however, it provokes critical thinking; it is not, above all, entertaining, nonetheless it transports you. I write in order to rationalize interiority, to catch emic experiences with a net. Everything, however, revolves and remains inside.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Saying goodbye to my therapist was like leaving that stranger I once met at a bar and with whom I inexplicably shared a painfully intimate and warm conversation that ended just as randomly, with no phone number in hand and no recollection of anything but


His name, I can't remember. Pero gracias por ayudarme a entender the course I carry within.

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