not know about you, the traveler, but I feel close to the edge, hanging on the edge, more and more. I feel the light sound of the dust stirred up by my foot falls into the abyss. But still I can not see the abyss, I'm afraid, and my eyes are closed. I jumped at other gaps in the past ... but now it is different, this chasm is calling me more than others, I can not look back, I still can not take the leap, are suspended, and the wind makes me swing like a delicate fruit trees.
I dropped so much weight, traveler, that sometimes I think I'm ready to jump up, and yet I still wake up in some sunrises to discover that the illusion is still strong, which will still be shaped properly, that the confusion has its rhythmic gusts.
The void down there, there, call me, and his voice is light and warm, is not human, has the persistence of the trees, it will never stop calling, even if I could look back and take a few steps away from ' hem. And 'The voice of love, and ruthless because its tone is that of no return, the total abandonment.
I know, a traveler, I talk about a leap into the abyss, but then I know it will be different. It's not in my nature to sever all ties at once, to launch a leap. I'm an old soul who is working his mind is like a mix: I have patience, will, and I'm lazy. My name will end up in a vacuum, and I will not have memory of the jump.
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