I believe in nothing else but me as I feel that slowly I have become something I never would have guessed or expected. People hate me for not being able to see through me. Trees hate me for burdening their branches. Every living creature found something to hate about what I developed into. My body is nothing but an ethereal form, taken away,taken from place to place by the mocking wind. I am cold and alone, dispersed through the streets, the skies, shadowing the lamp-posts and the moon.
Looking around I can see nothing else. Not even me. Without thinking that I don't even remember how I look like. Again bound to nothing, no one and no will, deserted as the arid wastelands I grow impatient. For I seek only my rest. A place, or an idea in which I can reside now, and long after I cease to unveil restless thoughts.
Moments keep running in front of my eyes, filled with people, places, changing scenarios. Everything moves but me. Since I have grown so powerless and dependent, that my hatred has finally stoned me. I guess I deserve my fate and what I am to be. But as long as I still exist in a way or another, I will never stop my desire, my hope of being condensed, being an unique something. Or at least that my existence will end.
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