Here is the strange and bizarre thought I had all day long :
Questions are a burden to others; answers a prison for oneself.
I guess this is the reflection of the depths of my despair. I saw my distorted soul in the mirror, just like I saw my distorted face as a Bacon painting.
Will this touch of sadness, not to say, this depression, end up ?
I would like my state levels off.
I would like to reach a quiet plateau.
I do not request happiness, but just a peaceful mind.
I would like so much to feel a welcoming hand holding mine.
I do not want to see see anymore these hands again, in a nightmare :
They made me thought of Escher drawing hands, of Escher impossible prints :