.

.

.

.

there is a previously unknown root inside me that had your name on it since forever. I have to be washed over by it, I need to be burried in it. And feel the diziness and the vertigo. It is it's vibration : this paradox of chao and quiet, this exhilerating mix in which everything melts. Forms vanish, limits and ends do the same, an endless echo covers all that can be seen, all that can be felt and experienced.

Oh, the high.

.

.

.

.