This life may incite us to beg attention, and to dig up hell and we are forced to continue the farce of remaining under the blows of tongues and the devil's weevil, and may also impose the law of the jungle to strip us of all human qualities in us, to become human wolves without feeling, or to resist the executioner within our conscience between age and age. But there is a window overlooking our heart, praying to God and sparring in order to live as we want, or rather as we deserve, but when God prescribes the impossible to us, we retreat for the sake of the tribe, for the sake of the friends of a lifetime, for the sake of the kingdom of traditions that grow on our nerves. Sincerity becomes a betrayal of ourself, and our days are sly joys, and our heart becomes homeless and fickle, we don't know if we're happy or sad, and we don't differentiate between colors, sounds and surprise, just like cities built above water, empty/filled with terror, we scream with full voice.
Maybe that child disguised inside our body returns to play with the logic of things as he pleases, falling into the trap of our roles, looking for another dream worthy of the cave, the executioner and the princess.
Best regards, ✍