Excerpt: White, by Matthieu Tieler

If only we mortals all had the time and ability to write the words that rest upon our souls and likewise read those of others. Surely the world would spin a little less madly. Maybe that’s heaven: a place where all the words, that have so long been trapped in attics of hearts, are revealed, and a time when all understand and all give praise to Him who put them there sometime between our start and eternity. Indeed our lives are just a memory, stories to be told around the campfires of time; even now we stand on the brink of eternity looking back.