On paths of love, use a stealthy tread.
And remember well Ariadne’s thread.
For this is clear: the cost is dear.
And nature shows, he who braves love’s throes,
may well lose his head.
When I turned 34, I decided to write a series of short stories. The only catch? Each story had to be 34 words. 34 years, 34 words. No more, no less. These are the fruits.