Sometimes, it’s possible to pretend that we’re still alive, but we aren’t. Or we aren’t any longer. Or we aren’t feeling right here any longer, or we no longer know who we are, who we were before all this began. – sleep, oh, sleep – there were no paths laid out and for a brief period we had an illusion of power. When was that? Our journey is a long one, so long that it does not seem to have an end, or that the end has become derisory and we know it. We know that we have to reserve our energies. As if our task – As living beings? As non-living beings? – were to keep the fire burning during that one single night.
from Vermelho [Red] |
|
|
