my life is miserable. i am a dysfunctional delerium and a reflection of a lost memory. my sister has a stomach ache and emptyness like a woman who comes empty to the delivery ward at the hospital. i am a desolate child. my heart hurts. i need flowers to decorate my shadow. i need a comb to comb the inner hair of my walls. i am so sad and vulnerable. i think if i was a priest i would cry so much that my bible would become so wet lying on my lap that it would resemble an lost book in the great flood where noah used to embark away from. but i am no noah. and i am not an animal noah would have chosen. and i am not a priest with wet eyes reading old fairytales from a big book. i just a woman who is still a girl and are just hanging on and on, because of the thrill of the morning light. if i was a birth doctor i would cry so much that the child would be baptized automatically in human water. and the mother of the child would scream of anger. so it is good i am not a birt doctor. if i was a pet sitter the cats would lick my tears and dry my face and the dogs would also do that. so. it is. now. voilá. with emptyness all around me.