thoughts are like secrets. it's a simple way to put it because it's apparent - still it seems to me that one fails to see that too many times. this place is a thought. this place is a secret. somewhere hidden between the rushes of the day, people passing in tremendous pace, and the subtle and sweet life of a family with all their failures and all their heart. an observer' s place, to see the world without the world seeing him. to flee inside and to dwell on thoughts, to hold hands or to simply lie in the leaves of ivy that surround you with their tender touch. you never knew why'd you go here and why it'd feel great .. but you knew that this wasn't like other places. this wasn't like memories. the memories of this place weren't out to devastate your mind. the memories of this place weren't even out to linger on you. nothing seemed to matter in this place, and still to you, everything mattered so much. all you knew is that as soon as the gleam that had just touched your lips would touch the ground and you'd get up and leave again, that things had changed for better. even if just for the moment. this place never let you go and still let you run away the way you had thought to. and it felt alright. it still does.
this picture is an illusion. you just see what you see and just what you want to see - yet the entirety will never be revealed. you'll never be able grasp this thought, this emotion, this memory. now you're left with the image I just painted in your head. that never meant it was no good.
(day seventy-eight II)
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