…..but even saying the word silently would stop my brain from turning as if it s a brand new information it never processed before. It is vast, no definition can ever fit it, no justification is fair enough for it. I would look at my both open hands as if it is something that i can hold and maybe then feel and make sense. I would look back into my memories as if i would easily pull a thread from all the stories that would explain what it is all about.
” I want to write about life” i said it again to no one but my self, and still…i am muted.
Re-definition, re-directing, search for the meanings, but whats there? what then? if we are and everything else is nothing but dust. Truth are the mist we created to cover our selves from nothingness.
I dont even hear any slight echo from anywhere in horizon when i told the sky that i want to write about life.