White nights

Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky was born 200 years ago, on the 11th of November of 2021, but it was not until 2 days ago, on the 9th of November of 2021, that I read one of his books, «White nights». Reading it made me feel again that magic exists in the world, even if it is tragic, because, somehow, what just happened in my life, was precisely what the book said.

As I finished reading it, I could not avoid shedding some tears, as I realised that I am the dreamer, trapped forever in the last page of this story.

My God! A whole minute of bliss! Is that really so little for the whole of a man’s life?

White nights, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky .

_______

Polyanthea On defining felicity in terms of something else Solely present You were mine Rainbow of sex A Friday in Leuven