The silence of our desires, of our involuntary acts of possession, of survival. Our haiku drive that propels our hands to the planet from a skin. We, passive meteors, the ultimate destroyers who, by our humble presence, can annihilate hearts, tetanize an existence.
Do we know how to measure our words well? Do we know our shadow? Are we really doing good?
Joy, in us, when we listen to the shameless fire of our presence. Peace in itself, when you lower your eyelids, you turn to the depths of the cave to hear blind birds sing. The tranquility, the beauty of a number a thousand times covered with gold.
Do not say too much about it because silence does not like speeches.