He’s been ill for so long that being well again; being normal again seems like a luxury he can’t afford. His hourglass runs on smoke instead of sand, since the days disappear without notice or fuss.

He forgets what food is, but who would waste food on a shell that’s full of nothing but parasites? The only thing he can do is fly away in his dreams, but even there, he’s alone, and still unable to find what he’s looking for.

His name has become the curse word that falls from every angry person’s lips, and he doesn’t want to know who he is anymore. Whom he’s become. Will be, if he’s allowed to have a future.

He doesn’t know anymore, so he asks for the day when the heavens and the earth discard their worn-out clothes to come quickly, so he can come down from his dreams and land in a place where loneliness has become inconceivable.


Blah blah blah

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