An intention softens her face.

The candle stands on it's place.


Flicking through the pages of history,

several names with common backgrounds pop up out.

The harmless stuff.

The past's puff.


The diaries, the notes, the photographs. The typewritten pages, letters, loves and adventures. Even old accounts.


What a mess!


For example one ribbon. Can't be remembered. Only the feel is left.

The story of your life can be found from that band. As well hers.


Facing it makes she confused. Like landing to the own landscape, yet not.

After a short while she collects all pieces together and starts to write the biography.


After all the worst is not that you don't know him. The worst is that you don't know yourself.


Do it your own way, whatever you do, were the last words, to her was said on the deathbed.

It's possible nothing will happen. On the other hand, you never will know, if you don't go.


An intention behind the candlelight would appreciate God's bless and accept.