001

It has come to this. All I want to do is scream. But I do not dare. Hardly anyone ever dares to scream, and if they do, the busy humans weave a web over their mouth in just a few sore seconds.

I've been looking for a pattern in everything that I have ever done wrong and the material to work with is so vast and numerous that no common patterns can be found anymore. Good grief, they say. Get up and make some coffee. Make a pancake or two. It will be all over now baby blue. As they say in Polish, it will all spread among the bones. Spread there and stay there but somehow less noticeable.

Or so they say. With their sayings.

What you see is always milder than what you didn't see and imagined instead. Like the death of your parents. The sudden death and the progressing death. The surprise die, the daily bread die. You piece the stories together from those who think they cannot only keep it to themselves, you piece the die, the intensity die, the parabole die. Who am I kidding, there is no parabole.

The life die. That's what remains.