Who is to say whether you deserve what is happening to you? Whether you were asking for it? Who is to say that caterpillars deserve to be thrown to the voracious larvae of the potter wasp?

You are not alive enough to measure it. You live in a present of incessant pain.

This is not a moment. There is no time in what you are going through. Your suffering is a place, and you don’t know whether you can ever leave this place.

Are our efforts to live in peace simply doomed to failure? Will the bad guys always be bad guys? Will the good guys spend their whole lives taking punches and throwing rocks into the water with all of their might and getting nothing more in return than a ridiculous sploosh and the shame of failure?

because a child doesn’t die like you, an adult or an old person reading these lines. Children die without having had a chance to picture the end, without a sense of it being born and maturing within them. They die the same way they get lice or a skinned knee. They die without understanding, with their childish naïveté imagining death the way they i

The person pretending to be lost but who wasn’t and the person pretending not to be lost but who was

Enzo’s life, and probably yours too, would serve as a lesson for no one. It emerges, endures, and ends without anyone arranging its episodes into a narrative, organizing them so that onlookers can take them in, ideally. Because there are no onlookers, and the lives that go untold are like pebbles thrown up in the air: their linear trajectory does n

So far, it wasn’t all that serious: she alone was suffering the consequences. But now, the slightest choice she made could decide the fate of this frightened child.

was she calling for help or offering it?