AS YOU SNAP ON YOURSELF

Let's say you play it, because you yourself now believe not only your wretched conception of the Real, the silly circumstances of your awakening, but the whole of the immortal, flirtatious glances, which would have been worth even going into the fire for.

From you, this step-mother, your world, another small, but still more significant piece, keeps slipping out of you, and while you are thinking more and more that you are not deliberately revealing, you are not showing the mirror tiles of your stripped Soul so that they can get to know you better, you are still wondering if it is good is that you deliberately exclude everyone from the tragedies of your life, like a seven-locked door.

- Have you seen the hunchbacked toilet lady while wearing transparent shoes and you can't understand, let's say, does she believe in more livable Tomorrows?! The worst thing about a dream is that in the end - unless you are a lifeless stiff yourself - sooner or later you deliberately wake up, and then you wake up, just like most wandering dawns.

- You are afraid that fewer and fewer people will be able to understand you, and in the end you will be totally left to yourself with your selfish, almost unnecessarily tyrannical monastic solitude, so that your thoughts will no longer be criticized or insulted, like so many stigma Apocryphal wounds, which have still not been able to heal completely.

You try to smile into the other's face, while you turn into a crying child again, because you want to trust at least the petty, light-hearted promises of Someone. You possess the holy superiority of newborns, and you haughtily grimace and grimace, because that is what the restless cosmic spirit in you wants. You also somehow still see love as a humble Evening Star, while you yourself feel that it is often more of a Traitor!