The creation in the ocean was drowned at night. The night was so dark on the world that it was said that it would never rise again; it was said that it had sat there since eternity; it was neither yesterday nor will it be tomorrow, and I- like a ghost who wanders aimlessly in the silent nights of quiet towns, in dreamy deserts, mournful cemeteries, contaminated and polluted cities, haunted ruins, everywhere- lived my life. The dream was dizzy, confusing, and unrealistic. Everything was covered in the veil of legend, but the veil was black; the legend was dark… I cannot describe it; everything was night; no, everything was night. And I was moving in the night. I knew the words of the days and spoke them. Other ghosts, with beautiful songs in celebration of the day, came out of their hiding places and from the depth of the night, looked towards me and, with the gaze that conveys sadness and curiosity, captivated me, and to hear better, circled around me, tightly, and brought their heads close to my chest, shoulder, and arms, and I, with the saddest of songs, in admiration of the sun, in praise of light, sang for them and they, like curious children, did not believe in the legend…
ᛁ ᚨᚱᚨᛉ ᚹᚱᛟᛏᛖ ᛏᚺᛁᛊ ᚱᚢᚾᛁᚲ ᛒᛚᛟᚷ
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