: "Write."
: "Im holding my phone...I am trying..."
: "Write."
: "Well! What should I write about?"
: "Write about the fragrance of the mango trees. The odors of February and its wild yellow flowers spread feral orange dreams all over your existence. Just imagine Van Gogh painting the mango trees of February. There are no mangoes, only yellow sprouts all over his canvas. Oh, how marvelous would it be!
Write about the soft puppies. About how you once rescued them from a dirty pit far away from home…"
: "Wait, I didn …"
: "Oh shut up! Just write. Deep into a wilderness with eccentric, beautiful anonymous flowers. Those flowers drowsed with sorrows and were softened by the cries of the little black puppies. The pit that engulfed the black puppies looked sad and dark. You probably didn want to put your hands inside and get them out, yet you saved them. Just go on..write…
Write about how you hated yourself for the very first time when you were sixteen and got a gentle shivering touch of the little breasts of your cousin.
Oh! How pathetic you felt when you were older knowing you are one kind of pathological sadist!"
: "I won write it. Never."
: "I know you won ."
: "I can write."
: "I know you can ."
: "Ive no dreams to write."
: "Sad that you don . Sad that you can lift your fingers up. Yet, you still crave to write..."
