Lost in Translation

Why does it speak the words of a language unknown to it?

In all perception, nothing but a scared boy trying to get into the light again. Should I dig deeper, I might find something more sinister. Yet, I cannot stop.

The rarest of all indications seem to come from his lips, from his hands, from his eyes... and so rare are they, that any interpretation could be wrong. He says nor silences anything. He neither gives nor takes. He is just the shadow of something he once was. I feel some parts still lingering to that ancient form, but most of it has become so weary, so disillusioned, that no love could be great enough so as to wake him up from his content.

Yet, I cannot stop.

How foolish of me to still believe that love heals everything and everyone... that smiles, kisses and kind words could ever be enough so as to compensate for the wounds left by others.