Maria had never been in love. But when she first saw a tiny sprout push its way through the tile floor, she felt something tighten inside her belly. She sat in her father's wooden rocking chair, his ... [+]
Wounds cannot stay--
Only as fading white lines of memory--
All is forgotten with
Time, who steals the importance
Of the sting of suffering.
If, one day, this anguish will mean
Nothing to me,
Let me stay in my agony
So I will never be deprived
Of the brilliant, all-consuming,
Purifying pain.