<< Silent Conversation >>
2003-27-06, 8:21 a.m.

Hair in your face, you feel so ripped open. The truth is not existent here. This makes you run into the blinding light. You want the dirt to taste your tears, but that is impossible. Finally a comb of aspens embrace your fall. They filter the light into small waves, and you find beauty in this. You realize that in that moment nothing matters, but the stream of light. You swing your head back to get the hair out of your face and to see more of the world. As your eyes grow, your mind hides. This is too much for you to bear. It is difficult to run through something with hands tied behind your back, gagged, and dripping mixed blood with water. Maybe drowning wasn't a bad idea.

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