Looking at the sea she was, waiting, waiting, as she had been doing for the past few years. For how long? She didn’t remember, not anymore. Once she did, once she counted them as they dropped one after the other in the sometimes stormy waters. But not anymore, not since she came back from the sea, she remembered. She could remember that.
The sea the sea the sea... May 2009
"Because nothing is as surprising as life. Except for writing. Except for writing. Yes, of course, except for writing, the only consolation."
The Black Book / Orhan Pamuk (translated by Maureen Freely)
Page updated 21 May 2009
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