Every man has experienced the miseries of a love that abandons him, abandoning himself in the reflection.
Every man dragged himself in silence, walked through stormy rivers and found himself lost, but he found himself.
Certain nights I habitually inhabit black caves where crying becomes a lullaby, where the song of birds shakes me knowing I am crazy from a messy time. When dawn comes and I witness the mourning that your absence gives me, I am aware that the death I cry for is seeing my own death and finding the void in future projections that no longer exist.
Now I walk through doors in solitude, paths that have been built just for me. In my mouth I keep laughter and screams that belong to an illusion
