π π π§β₯ Ζ βγ €i was waiting by the oceanοΌstaring endlessly into this void of separation of lovers and a dream.γ €[ππ-ππππ]
A curva que desenhei ontem amanheceu sem sentido, parece que o mΓ‘rmore mudou de humor durante a noite. Γ estranho esculpir. Γs vezes sinto que nΓ£o moldo coisa alguma, e sim que faΓ§o revelaΓ§Γ΅es. Outras vezes, o bloco parece rir de mim, dizendo: "hoje nΓ£o, estou tΓmido!"
Is to become liminal. A presence made of absence. A self is no longer one thing, but not yet another. A phantom still tethered to its heart. Stubborn thing, retraces its steps again. Such is the reason we are ever summoned back.
What is it to die for an instant? In that quiet, secret death that happens while you're still here. Is to vanish inside yourself, to retreat behind your eyes, to become a ghost in full daylight.