“We never know which way life will go, don’t know who will live and who will die, don’t know whether the next greeting will be a kiss, bitter words, a hurtful gaze; someone doesn’t take care, forgets to look to the right and is dead, and then it’s too late to take back harsh words, too late to say sorry, too late to say what matters, and what we wanted to say but couldn’t due to annoyance, the weariness of everyday life, time constraints, you forgot to look to the right and I’ll never see you again and the words you spoke to me will reverberate within me all my days and nights, and the kiss you should have received dries on my lips, becomes a wound that rips open every time someone else kisses me.”
Book:Hjarta mannsins