If I could kill the world I would. But I cannot. The world cannot be killed. Only the eyes that see it. And the world will go on, blindness not discounted.
If I could kill the wind I would. But I cannot. The wind will not be killed. It cannot be held long enough, as with water except when it becomes ice. And then it becomes the murderer and I will flee across vast white expanses, searching for a face, an answer, a word.
If I could kill my mind I would. But I cannot. It does not stop and I cannot stop it. It spins story after story without end as though life were a neverending novel without chapters and punctuation. It is the lack of punctuation that bothers me most. I need a pause. I need to breathe before the world and the wind and the water rob me of oxygen.
Life will not let that happen, and even if I die I am not sure the process stops. After all, who has come back to tell us what happens after. After the world, after the wind, after my mind stops running, running, running…
