Life as a blur is a fate
Life is just passing by me as a blur. I do not make an imprint on it, neither does it change me.
Life says touch me not, and if I try making a gesture of touching it, I get pricked on the tip of the index finger, which leaves a trail of blood on the floor.
This prick is the fate which haunts me always: the same fate which crushed my finger while I was hammering a nail on the wall, the same fate which cut through my hand while I was slicing a ripe ripe apple, the same fate which went through my foot like a shred of glass.
My dear I want to tell you that the last time we talked my heart stopped. I would want you to prick me right on my heart, right now, before it turn into a blue jelly fish.
