Those days in spring, when matter dissolves in the sunrays and the soul gets lost in remembrance… That’s when all the dreams we’ve had so far will be reborn in ourselves, all the dreams of our nights, all the absurd and the imaginary stuff, woven in our unconscious by our fear, our voluptuousness, and our hidden pain. I thought that the dreams had died in us with every day and every night that passed. But the voluptuous decomposition of our soul, under the vast spring sky, is the call of remembrance. The more the soul is fragmented, the more it approaches the zone of forgetfulness. Towards everything that we forgot, this is the pilgrimage towards our inner being the eternal presence of spring invites us to undertake. The shattering of our soul only shows us what we have been. Why can’t we always awaken our past? We sleep within ourselves, and the ego is a shroud that covers our sleep.
a burrito has appeared on my screen at 2.25am and I’m really hungry right now bc my last meal was at 4pm which was 10 hours ago
I should prolly get a find waldo book and some tracing paper for my belated bd.
I always remember everything when I head out. Everything but money.