and happiness, many things I do not know. I look at them as if they are a set of many sentences, just like a story.” And I stay here writing and writing and they are Now they live another story, I know it will remain a memory of this moment, but I feel like the reader and writer
Whenever I see someone I think of his story, was his life difficult or was he happy? Was it harmful or comfortable? I look at their faces and think of their stories. I always say in myself, when I am among a group of people: “Here there are many stories and novels, many problems