I am not surrounded by silence. It’s the murmuring of a thousand souls, trying to take all I know to the limit, and then destroying it.
What is the good, what is the happiness, what is the respect for oneself and for the others?
I fall asleep at night when my body is worn out by the struggle of those souls that imagine and paint emotions in my brain, transforming them, growing them, until it turns to dust.
All the cracks in me have been sharpened and the water can now penetrate in abundance. All the nerves are swelling up and my body is rolling around with a kind of inertia.
Every night I say to myself that tomorrow it will all be over and done with. But every day there are other souls overlapping, other doubts and other certainties breaking down.
Each day it seems that I have less and less time to just look at what has accumulated.
Each day I keep on pretending not to understand, lying to myself.