Foreigner.
Does a poem explain itself? A book, a metaphor. How to capture an abstract idea into a common code? Feelings that aren't made of flesh, their lack of shape makes them unique, their beauty lies there; ephemeral shine of the mind, going nowhere but to words. Are they enough? There are those who eat others idea and digest theirs. Shaping into their will what understand. How could this ending fine. Explaining myself is a hard fight to get listen by someone having the same fight. Is there anyother way? No. Even when words are not easy to manage, they are our best shot. To overcome my fear, I'll use them even when they might not build a vivid form of my ideas. The following is not more than an attempt to make those words part of my "reality". The act to write is to hold a second in eternity, is the power to create a collective deja vu. Once written the idea becomes an statue, a permanent remainder of his death. So here is the dilema; what language? Nowadays I live in my