Clara Chow

And that__ when I knew she was not doing this on purpose; that her stories came from a place deep within her, beyond thought and formal language.

With the balcony doors completely open and folded up, his small room acquired an infinite vista. Somewhere on the horizon, water finally worked up the courage to embrace the sky.

And she cries even more, for the way the universe keeps throwing her together with the players in her son's tragedy, like handfuls of dust.