(22/10/2000)
As the light blinded my sight, I stood there, arms open, at the brink of an endless precipice. My eyes focused on the burning horizon. My spirit flying free along the last winds of autumn. I closed my eyes and smelled the ocean breeze that whispered through my hair as it playfully danced along time's music, following the rythm of the waves. I listened in silence, as I knew that for me, that music was coming to an end, and quietly, I waited there for time to sing in agony that last whisper. My mind reran my entire life, every episode, every memory flashed before my eyes until only the whiteness of infinity was left. Letting go of my deepest thoughts, with a sight I freed my secrets to the world, and taking a deep breath, I dived into thin air. With my senses intensified as I challenged inmortality, I could hear the world's sobs and weeping, grieves and regrets, and felt it's pain and suffering, My mouth tasted the sweetness of uncertainty, as my body fell into nothingness. My weak heart pumped life difficultly through my veins, but yet, I had never felt more alive in my entire, miserable life. Those brief moments of pure happiness elapsed, as time coursed it's last verses, and my eyes, wide open, saw my fait accompli approaching. Numbness invaded my body as I hit the bottom of my journey.
Exalted, I regained consciousness as I woke up with a jump, gasping desperately for air. Realizing it had all been product of my own insane imagination, I breathed heavily; feeling everyone of my muscles come to life once more, like every single morning. My mood had become so repetitive that it seemed like my whole life had turned into a deja vu. Every solemn morning I would wake up in this same room, filled with loneliness, breathing the exact same air, thinking the exact same thoughts, feeling exactly the same... I would clean myself, put some clothes on, close and lock the door behind me as I left to wherever I was heading... which was usually the same. That morning I just didn't feel like experiencing the force of monotony. So I just layed there still, watching the scraped ceiling, tracing with my sight the patterns that told the story of my life.
