When she weeps for what it has been lived, there is no God from the Netherworld who comes to comfort her.

When she tosses out and hit against the walls of her conscience, nothing comes out. A dark quiet and obscure and sweet.

Flowers withered by then spring back again from her eyes. To give birth to death, to create death from life.

And she lingers there, silent. 

She clings to them and she feels them like her children.

She breathes them and she feels like her mother.

Suddenly she leaves them, she eclipses and lets them spring, because her presence makes them fade.

[unfinished story]

This is a particular story.
This is a story of a girl, who felt the solitude of the deads. She often went to the cemetery just to talk with them, read stories or singing.
And often the dead ones were lighten up. She felt it and she knew it.

She found these gravestones so close to her.
Her white-browed image was the same colour as the stones.
Crests and tales were written on the statues, and she loved so much touching them, listening to them, taking part in that silent feast.

She was that burial place. Cold and marble.
But empty.

Dead, yet kept alive by a weak lip of flesh, a vague spun of bones.
And dreams.

Departed, chocked to death.

LATE AFTERNOON

Lovely afternoon with my Dear M. 

Tonight I will be hidden among some illustrations of my Master, M. while drinking a cup of strong  black coffee. So inspiring.

This night I will also start to write down some ideas for my future work.

Although I'm sick now, I can't stop thinking about how many images flash in my mind. I need to rest, but I won't, I know. Tonight I dreamt a lot, and when I felt the ache growing, I started to daydreaming.
I saw these beautiful creatures dancing all around me, and suddenly I felt a deep chill in my bones.
One of them set on my rib and I became ghost-white. She was the death and she was slowly taking my soul. At last, she flown away: I was not dead, I was chose by her to bear her mark.

This morning I silently woke up and made a portrait of her.
Soon she will come back, and I will be ready to show.

Today I went to the antiquary with my M.

While we were walking, a little moth settled upon the hair of my Dear and I gentle picked her up. She was so graceful and she whispered something I couldn't understand, then she flown away. This gave me inspiration for a new story to tell you, and soon I will take some photos.

When we got there, we bought this magnificent victorian painting and these little portraits. I am thinking to fill my workspace with these.

When I am at home, I use to observe all the pictures that hang all around the walls.

I see places so vivid in my mind that i feel I am inside one of them. 

I feel flowers in my mind, thorns inside my body. 

So fascinating.