Fear crawls from underneath and whispers of the possibility of your nonexistence.
I kick it as hard as possible. It weighs, and reeks, and cries.
Perturbed, I cling to your memory.
My mind betrays me and promises nothing.
My heart, blind, can promise it all.
"is not general incivility the very essence of love?"
I can read Jane Austen in my mind and persist
in the possibility that these very old words match my circumstances today.
The sun is exactly above me, I have no shadow and still exist.
Is the sun at noon for you?
Do you really exist even when your shadow is momentarily gone?
2 comentarios:
siempre queda la duda, sí ese día exacto a esa hora exacta, te quedas sin sombra, ¿habrá un día exacto y una hora exacta en que te quedes sin cuerpo?
Quien quita.. saludos
Interesante... imaginate la probabilidad de que eso pase ¡y las consecuencias!
Qué susto. ¡ja!
¡Gracias por tu comment!
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