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I used to curse life and its existence.
A ritual to worship its incomprehensibility, its aloofness, from a human vivisected state of perspective.
I slowly begin to realise why I since I started to think wanted to leave first. Because I will have trouble to.
All this richness of devastation and beauty and devastated beauty and beautiful silence you find in between and for a second you feel you punched the bubble, you stick your head through.
Clearness of everything and all.
A tick of nonexistence, but it feels I was just reborn, born for the first time. It´s all there, the outlines, the shapes, the colors and the unimportance of all this as it is. Just as it is.
Before a grey shadow hit your matrixic déjà vu and pulls you back on the ground, the human territory, where men reigns in blood and hopelessness, an enemies’ territory. A forced existence occupied by greed and dripping slobber, primordial soup of bitterness and suffering.
We are all doomed.
From the beginning. We should be clear on that.
But when your tip of the nose touches the fine skin of the bubble you can not call life, a fraud, a damn bad joke, and after a bit more it breaks and reveals a different WE. A we which is strong because it doesn’t need to be strong. A we which knows that only an US matters, its peace and wonder. – Then you know you lost your mind.
But still, I will miss you someday, my life.