quinta-feira, fevereiro 05, 2009
I've met people like me. Wild brush fires of nature. Or at least according the self portrayal I sketch every now and then. They would burn every little source of oxygen around them just to find they had to go hold their breath somewhere else. And so they went. What happened next I hold no record of. Ponderous, not worried, if they found a beautiful beginning, a startling way or a dreadful ending. And so they went, just as I did, later to return knowing that flames never drown and the silence was already there in the first place. Not to be purged or conquered but to be deserved.
"The Tale Of The Man Who Ran For Silence"
Oral tradition - whispered to me on 05/02/2009
Origin Unknown
0 toes just touched the water
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