Well, like melting ice refreezes into distorted shapes or like a sinner who distances themselves from the approaching heat of summer, begging for forgiveness, losing form and place, within the construction of a solitary cell, if even a tiny crack were to open, I can do nothing but seal that hole in exchange for the unique memories flowing within me, devoid of any means or courage to escape from it.
Right now, neither a place, nor existence, nor traces are visible.
For instance, at times when one contemplates something, that heart dons armor, only to awaken defenseless and be slain on the battlefield. Leaving a foothold, continuing to advance, even if one were to thrust a sword into the sea of flowing memories, prepared to be engulfed by it.
At times, I am happy, and someday he will resent it.
Come morning, everything will be gone.
A daily routine more cruel than nightmares relentlessly carves the immobilized body and gouges at the heart.
Is there no strength left to escape?
Or perhaps, am I already dead?
By tomorrow, I might be allowed to lullaby a hymn heard somewhere, to sleep.
It's fine at that time. Please, kill me.