CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

In my sanctum, I lay calm and silent in the field of dandelions, wrapped by the skin of soil with absolute amnesia of the quick marching of time and deprived of comradeship. This is how I am rooted in the gorgeous part of reality—the flaming brilliance of the sun, proud and powerful in the dispersing clouds, its heat whom my pores embraced with the soft hum of the wind—I imprisoned my mind and fixed my thoughts to where I was, not choosing to slide away towards my rest. How can you manage to be both complex and simple at the same time, life?

In the absence of words, I discovered songs that my voice exploits in my solitude, my territory, my precious throne. In the same place where I drank in my madness like a fine wine and summoned death to save my soul, but was ignored by those who claimed I had a lot more life in me than I had ever imagined, It would take a world-cataclysm of epic proportions to enter my lane, which is awe-inspiring in its eager desire to see t