What do I do with my memories?
Can life corrupt someone's essence? I read another book by Marília Arnaud and it made me wonder what to do with my past and my memories. Like the protagonist of the book, "I carry childhood on my tongue, a taste never recovered," but I also think that "looking back is dying a little more, and I've already died enough."
Memories are like fireflies
The past overflows within me, remembering is being more intimate with life
I put my hand on my chest and listen to the scars
Can life corrupt someone's essence? -
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