Reading Kundera again is going back to my own origins as a writer. His pedantic knowledge and the singularity of his characters fascinate me. Love stories full of political sense and existentialism. Happy to see commonalities with my latter story... a man who returns to his native city after years in some kind of exile... and an allegory of history... as a role player. I am lacking "the love element" in my tale... and I should be inspired by my own love story... that inner light that is shinning through my eyes. My book marker is a photo of S on that Thai boat that took us scuba diving around Phuket. When I look into those eyes I see a universe that knows no limits.
It's time to go to bed.
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