Solitude The solitude knocked at the door to my room—number thirty-three. The boredom entered my bed like a big dull cloud—silently. The sheets were blank pieces of paper.
Vincent Van Gogh The poppies have bloomed The poppies have bloomed. They brighten the lips of spring with their mad red. They kiss the zephyr to unravel the
Unanswered Her arms spread as if she wants to embrace Heaven the Afghan mother begs food for her starving child. But her prayers touch neither human nor Heaven.
Painting by Nicole Senlis, France In the end everything seemed to be superfluous, our whims, our worries, our everyday words whirling in between the four corners of
Painting by Natalia Fernández Díaz-Cabal The heart regenerates more slowly than other organs and is never renewed completely, that’s what it says in the textbook. this
