Hello, you, the spectator. I didn't expect to find you here, so close to my breathing, my face, my eyes. I know you want to grasp my words, decipher every sentence I've written, carve into the depths of my mind. I can guide you, step by step, with no prescribed manifesto.
Are you ready for the ride?
Let me elucidate what I mean when I write. It's not as simple and obvious as it appears right now. No, sometimes things are as easy as breathing, while others are as complicated as life itself. Here, in this ocean of words, my mind—both my nemesis and my soulmate—is absorbing all the information you're trying to conceal. Don't be afraid. I understand how you feel; I've felt what you've felt, I've lived what you lived And listen closely, you're still here. You're not dead. You're grieving, but time serves as a reminder that the storms can be as loud as we desire or as tranquil as we wish. Don't hide; there's no need to keep running. It's not a battle between you and me; it's about us, as individuals dancing beneath a shared moon - la luna - striving to uncover the ancient worlds that have preserved eons of female fury within their stone roots.
You can rest while I dance, and then, we can trade places and reach for the moon together.
How does that sound?...
