About pain. Ends and beginnings. Words, silence and all that still matters or not that much. Little things at the top of a mountain. The view from my window and the space that goes from this side to a friendly sholder. What makes sense and what is undoubtedly the beginning of an endless journey to loss.
About that moment when the feeling that something is lost, becomes the certain of never being there again, never living that taste of death again, that the again is never gonna happen again.
About that moment when the feeling that something is lost, becomes the certain of never being there again, never living that taste of death again, that the again is never gonna happen again.
"(...)
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place (...)"
T.S. Elliot
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place (...)"
T.S. Elliot
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