Resurection

There was nothing in the room that could keep his attention away from the mirrors. Neither the wall nor the epicenter of his images were good enough for his resurrection.

Apart from his dreams, and in spite of them, pain was endless, as in a never ending torture from which he could not escape. The dreams were too bright, and the limitations too powerful.

Powerful as they may have been, the inexplicable forces of life gave him a place where to find a core of happiness, where discourse would be stripped off all significance and fakeness.

Without pretending the establishment of a truth, words are free to attain their poetic significance in an simple interplay with the Other.

As if the beautiful eyes of a woman could possibly prevent her from walking in circles, there was no flower nor architecture that could draw the line between madness and simple appetite.

As in an instance, the door went open, he walked into the room and sat down. Desperation took control, then silence and finally, the conversation took place.