letter to a stranger maman...

mais non maman, je ne veux plus aller avec les autres...
there is no love in their eyes and didn't you tell me that the eyes are the soul's mirrow?
But are mirrows not very coward surfaces? Is the soul not a very tragic invention of humans?
maman, aide-moi s'il te plait!
And what if my eyes are heavy of tears? tears are water. Water is a mirrow. What would I see if I looked into my tears? My eyes in a mirrow- pulsating pupils, opening, closing, closing, opening and behind infinity...
maman, je sais qu'il faut étudier des mots et des livres, mais j'ai perdu ma pensée.
Maybe I have forgotton so many things because I have not understood them and may I blame the dear system for this failure? can one learn in a state of lethargy?
maman, il y a du chocolat chaud? 
It feels like a lack of vitamines or food in general, a feeling of scarcity. The big hunger waits like a huge religious eye in the corner of those indoor facilities. I have not agreed to look back and donate my energy to that eye, but I feel guilt that has no adress.
maman, je voudrais écricre une lettre à l'étranger. Qu'est-ce que tu penses?
To write a letter to a stranger, write on paper, draw a sun into the left corner and send it in the early morning. It could make a difference...


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