“Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events”. Adrienne Rich, American poet.

It was a warm but windy autumn evening. They were both dressed up sharp, perhaps a little bit too formal considering their age, the environment and the occasion. It was his eighteenth birthday, and he reserved a large table at one of the secluded saloons of a restaurant located in an old castle. As they called it, the Citadel was built Read more Two-thousand sixty-five. Chapter 78. Six of Cups ›