Beyond the inner shelters, everything I do (or what do we do?) Is an act of love or affection.
Otherwise it is just an empty gesture, free, meaningless or commitment, a waste of time. Like writing, especially here.
It is a psychophysical way of mine to stem an inner monologue proper to reminiscence and unequal struggle.
“Stay with me, talk to me”
If these are just words of fantasy, what could be true?