Are you sure that's what you wanted to find?
She is a nobody- an almost nobody, because she has a body but she has almost nobody who knows her own body. She is half of a whole and those holes have holds on her soul. Most of the marketed memories managed to meander
And when you reach her, she reaches you, desperately clawing at your mind because she can't control her own. Her voice is a shrill siren suffocating your senses, screaming at your synapses to get a grip on their own functionality, trying to tap the torments and the thrills trapped in your temples that tirelessly trample over the tapestries of your own time. Perhaps she could peck at the pictures to perfect and preserve the past; if she could just scream loud enough, maybe the detail of loud wouldn't be necessary and necessary details would be allowed. You wouldn't be a nobody because your body would begin to breathe with the benign satisfaction of being able to remember what really mattered. Could she control that, or could cerebral carelessness
YOU ARE READING
incomplet
De TodoIncomplete works that I have decided to present unfinished, from poems to paragraphs to single sentences. The rest is up to you.
