I am here trying to get pass the big lights that give you a plastic sensation corrupting your fingers. I am here because a part of me will never realize easy ways to accept the impossibility of seconds. The fact that things work in dimensions is an impossible thought. Why do words exist here now, what kind of twisted air current goes by my fingertips and turn just some movements and the sound of matter colliding into a meaningful going-by-?
I am afraid of the delusion of things becoming.
This is a testimony that I ever did something.
I am writing because I am trying to get over something related to an empty abyss.
Maybe it is just that nothing could ever be another.
It never goes back because it is always supposed to be like death.
I am actually trying to hold on to something, but nothing ever stays.
The water is failing my absence
It is so impossible that everything exists, that it does.
We are a result of orbiting moving corpses
We are planets full of immense connections so old, that I cannot understand these waves around my words, is there a way to breathe in explosions?
I don’t want to be afraid of nature, we change and we are unsafe.
This is all participating and this is why I have fingers.
Destiny is a network of dancing cosmic powder,
I am just embracing a moment that will never exist again,
Because the memory is always present
And that is beautiful too.