I can assure you that if you cut me open and take me apart, you'll realise that I've always been inside out.
My shadows walk without the light, the interconnectedness of suffering and pleasure has faded into unbearable pain and the only way to escape is straight and fast, but I'm worried that if I go too fast, I might run into you and melt into a warm puddle of existence, disfigured, like I've always been, on coinciding with you.
You're fire and I'm a drop of existence, who destroys whom, I'd never know. Why can't I be able to touch the only thing that gives me meaning
