I write these pages because I'm halfway through even before I start living. I write this book because I've lived too much. Too often. I am writing this book to die alone, proud, erect. Abiya, as I hope, is quiet. Happy. For all his ambitions, his faults, and the joys of his experience. I do not write this book so that people may envy me, pity me, or find themselves in my fate. Quite simply, we put up with everything, everything, when we are left with no choice. I accepted writing this book because I survived. And because I chose life, with all my remaining faults, I am writing this book for her. She, my little treasure, the child I was. I write her life because she is the only one who left life in my hands.
Pages: 190
