Authors note.

My sister asked me once if I ever planned to get married. I quite recalled telling her that I did not know but that the only thing I ever planned were my novels. Years back mother had said to me that if I were sick, and if a book was brought to me and I did not lift my head to read the words on the book, the doctor had a right to pronounce me dead.

I've always loved for my work to be published, if you're going to be reading the book, and if you read that far, I should be glad then. (A terrible procrastinator that I am) if any of my words should speak to you-- in definition, if it makes you notice some things new about life, you might share so deeply some personal thoughts with me that I could express not through allegory and symbols, but in words.

This book, might be quite too long for you when I am done (if I ever am), too melancholy or dehumanizing, but it promises to foresee a disregarded virtue.

I have so loved reading since I learnt to understand words, it seems sad that I should commit to a self published debut at 20.

I have lived life detesting every soul on it, but glad that in writing, I could create a version of my world, for my self, an alternate reality to romanticize the real. People are like art ungrafted, they must fade, beautiful subconscious, voice, beauty-- everything. Unrepeated, no one to catch, sketch, and memorize the rainbow that had once been on the horizon, never to be seen again. Sometimes I have felt sad that I might never Know everyone, including you, my reader, and these virtues that you possess, to have it recaptured.

And some times come when I think that I too will exist no longer, perharps un remembered. Perharps I want to be remembered for this work you're about reading, its a lot of truth and fantasy entwined, hoping it doesnt die until perharps much better litteratures on good novel,( or in the world; I think I wrote a good piece of literature)

Right now I have never felt greatful, this is where I'm supposed to appreciate someone. But its good to be back writing, not on a sheet of paper with a jerky confused finger, but self purblishing, finally.

I know now that its not about life. I don't think that the best man should want it, I think he should want a little more--immortality. Books might never stop to exist, but I can. Perharps I may attain it, perharps I may not.

I will write better works (promise), this one is just the work of my defiance, wonder on human sexuality, cupped with my insecurities. I think I've said as much as I can, it should be treason to forget people or things you love, even after they're no more--this is a recapture of mine.