I don't give bits of advice. I do confessions. Abstrusely gracious ones. Accordingly, I'm divulging, like this, some circumstances that happened once upon a time. Some of them have been succeeded to be managed, some, comme ci, comme Γ§a, some, not at all. The important aspect I wanna mention is that everything I write is shaped with the vision's elegance. Metaphors and personifications are at home. Music loves to be my ally. And because of ⋯ «what if», ⋯ the portal gets open. I walk in any dimension I want to be, using a touching accent, — friendly, aggressively, or both. Suddenly, the crumb of the truth gets lost through some fancy-schmancy thoughts. I'm sensitized by a susurrus in its trying to guide my senses. Sometimes they're fluidized, sometimes they're opposing. Due to these, the reader can sometimes read between the lines or is led where his mood take him. I don't give bits of advice. My words love to be attired in the sensual dimensions. Adore to be ...
