Nothing makes sense.
It is all a dullness, no sharp
corners protrude from
anything, all colors
bleed into one another, none
having any distinct quality.
The highs and lows
might once have been, but
they are like figments
of the imagination that have
drifted off, too far to smell,
unreachable, though
I feel that faint presence like
they may return on
some distant day. My thought
is like a trough where
water has turned muddy,
nothing flows from it, nothing
can be seen because
of its murk, drunk only if
desperate, and desperation, too,
is a far off place. I imagine
that tomorrow may come
if it pleases, and if not,
that is life — I know nothing,
but do not know that that
is all I know.... Alas,
I make less sense than a dream.
Antti from Sweden
2:16pm tuesday, 17th february
Hi,
You write well. Eventhough I'm not English speaking You could transmit your misery. Muddy waters, everything has ceased. Something's too huge, it stops the living waters. It's maybe the fear. Where there are muddy waters, there are always the possibility to find the living waters. Clarity is a gift for few. Life is most nice when it's kind of grey. Then You don't have to rise the opposites against each other.
Antti from Sweden