I have written two books in my life. Though none is published yet. Earlier, I hoped to publish the LIES at the middle of last year but at the moment, Rose filled our cup with unimaginable amount of love. So, I buried the manuscript.
Our cup has a scratch, a line that made it appear fragile, but not totally broken. I only knew about the fault, the hole beneath a beautiful mansion, the mistake in a perfect God creation.
In Rose's eyes, those distracting tools, those seductive doll, we are two perfect birds seated on a line, singing odes to brilliant sun, rubbing palms and sharing kisses.
I won't write about what we look like from my dull, deceptive eyes, how I see just a bird seated alone, watching the sun walk down in evenings, singing to imaginative companion, rubbing palms and sharing kisses with empty air. I won't write about it. Because there LIES the TRUTH, my second book.