Although I would like to be filled with the pure essence and transmit in crisp whites that self, that transcends the daily struggle, I entangle myself in the routine without finding my soul. I can see nothing but a "here" and an escape "now" that defines the walls of my fears, throwing me into the soliloquies of an aurora battered with pain and agony. But the involution advances and this world does not find a goal, a solidarity project, that combines solutions and distorts conflicts. I don't want to have to raise my voice over the mass, I don't want my truth as absolute. I long to add experiences and answers in a world that is more than a sum of egos. But I am still here, quiet and resurgent, recreating myself in my personal sufferings, gagged in my self-absorbed being. With nothing to offer I spend my days and I only know how to complain to a strange world.
