How much grief have these shores absorbed that turned gray from the touch of the cold wind? From how many tears is the canvas of this sea woven? The grieving trees are bent, the waves sharpen their roots. Dark silhouettes of ghosts repeat these strange curves...
Somehow, it becomes even sadder every time Gwendoline watches my art... Why am I waiting for her to like my art? When will I start to draw for myself...or at least think that I'm drawing for myself?..