Είμαι και εγώ θυμωμένη
με τον εαυτό μου
που το τράβηξα τόσο πολύ
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Blurbs
- Aliena
- The more I write, the more I discover that the partition between real and invented is as thin as a wall in a cheap hotel room. I can hear voices on the other side, running water, the clink of bottles, the sound of a door opening and closing. When I get up and go out into the corridor, everything is silent, no one is there. Then, as soon as I reckon I know the geography of what isn't and what is, a chair scrapes in the room beyond the wall and a voice says, 'You don't understand, do you?'
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