We still clutch close these letters to our chest, to the words that speak louder than loud, when we turn pages into palettes to say the things that we have needed to say, the words that we have needed to write, to sisters and brothers and even to strangers, for far too long.
Ne ende i shtrengojme fort ne gji ato letra, fjalet qe flasin me shume se fjalet, kur ne i kthejme faqet ne palete per ti thene gjerat qe kemi nevoje te themi, fjalet qe kemi nevoje ti shkruajme per nje kohe te gjate, motrave vllezerve, a ndoshta dhe te huajve.