I Crave Time In All Its Duration,

I Pass Times, I Pass Silences, Formless Worlds Pass Me By.

To Know Nothing About Yourself Is To Live. To Know Yourself Badly Is To Think.

But My Sadness Is Comforting Because It’s Right And Natural And Because It’s What The Soul Should Feel When It Already Thinks It Exists And The Hand Pick Flowers And The Soul Takes No Notice.

Life Is A Thread That Someone Entangled.

Everything Is Absurd.