But I can not shake off the visualization of my terror. I still think that there is a metal foundation beneath the ground. And I think I feel, the metal reaching for me. Coming out of the ground like fingers, pulling me in, dragging me into it's beliefs. Everything becomes small.
Nothing remains objective, nothing remains constant.
No matter how meticulously filed away. One against the other in compulsive-obsessive neatness. Packed in a box, in a space where I hope time will not touch. Only when I go back, I notice that everything is not as it was. Too much sadness coupled with a dangerous amount of anger, freezes over the body.