Like a whisper

It as been there for a long time now. Like a whisper, like images of dream. The smell of a rock, the sound of melting ice. I'd wish to know the meaning of this, because when I'm far away, when I'm in the desert, everything seem to make sense, everything comes out naturally.

But then I miss my people, I miss my friends and I need to come back. I try to understand what is the Truth, what is the excuse for what. Am I escaping? and when? where is the place to have my soul back, to build a life which can be really mine, and not just a fake?

Looking for directions, as always, in a quest that few can help with and less understand

Don't touch the children

I'm healing. It's taking time, but I'm healing. And I began dreaming again. Most are not pleasant dreams, people sliced by swords or axes.

And now, stronger than ever, the meaning of my past, the reason behind my last misadventures. I can still feel the dark around me, the sound of heavy steps on the floor tiles. The picture is not clear, neither the sounds, but I feel the cold, so unusual for that region, that season. I can feel it in my bones.

I can still remember how harsh that tongue, like a whip against my skin. I was weak, helpless, useless. Only a tool, a dustbin for the trash of all the group, of all that situation.

And now, step after step, I'm confronting my past with my present, what happened with what is happening, the process which brings from some preliminary remarks necessarily to a certain end. I'm healing. It's taking time, but I'm healing