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erosion as emptiness
02:52
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They say that butterflies who survive the winter come back yellow the following year. Ever since I heard about that, whenever I see one it breaks what is left of my heart, and distress like a cage is bleeding. Always wondered what it's like not comparing my self to others, not knowing that I'm disposable. I'm sure I'll never find out. Holding my breath and shutting my eyes, covering my ears, so that I can eventually sink into nothingness.
Everyone moves forward. I am still in pain.
"I was at a party not so long ago, where someone read out a poem about death and love, and how they sink into each other. And surround each other. I remember mocking that poem. Quite childish, don't you think?"
My impermeable solitude is so far away. Digging my own cold vain grave of existence.
My impermeable solitude is so far away. What I wish for is a speck of point in suffering.
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question
01:11
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Ήρθες βράδυ ξαφνικά ρώτησες:
<<Άνθος που δεν ανθεί για μας υπάρχει;>>
Σου είπα ψιθυριστά:
<<Υπάρχει όπως και η σφαίρα που δεν σκοτώνει εμάς.>>
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You came at night, suddenly you asked;
"A blossom that doen't bloom for, does one exist?"
I whispered to you;
"There is one. just like the bullet that doesn't kill us."
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