Saturday, July 20, 2002

Everything is but hormones and a rush of blood.

I can only feel as much as my body allows me to and I don't even know if I should trust the consistency of these feelings.
How long does hate last? How much can love withstand?

Maybe, I am but a figment of imagination and the world another metaphor.
The land is also called Marmosa Marmalada and we are in training for a better life.
Plankton in the sea, washed away into microscopic oblivion.

I cannot question who I am, because in the absence of answers, limbo shall conclude that I cease to be.
Today I'm adrift.

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