They are memories or not?
New memories are born in me.
The memories are stories, that is all.
I’m beginning and begging to understand. All of the memories were just made up by me. I had imagined them in my daydreams.
Suddenly I began to understand that I had created all of the surprises and adventures and journeys and passions or phobias. I felt that in a violent way. Then my reality faded out in my mind and in my medulla oblongata and in my Medusa Nebula.
I’m still a crystalline iceberg. Throughout my fragility there is a warmness. And you never broke my heart.