ana

..and his words echoed in my mind,

"To be
the eyes
and ears
and conscience
of the Creator of the Universe,
you fool."

and I´ve done everything all the time, all the passing illusion swept away.

Those were just two beers, and Rousseau´s social contractions have already started.
I felt wonderfully ill.
Old Murder crawled it´s way from the void underneath cupboard, purred and done stuff against my leg once again.
I am merciful. I am nothing. I am pretentious.

All that happenned, in the end, was the fact that there was no end,
since the wheel kept on turning, since we began to come back to it after understanding that this is the purpose of love.

She cried a little. Relief.

I went as far as I could.