She didn't know if she was going crazy. That question wasn't important at the moment. She had thoughts that gave her shivers throughout the day. Real shivers, visible shivers. That sensation between the brows kept flickering in terms of intensity day by day. At times she wasn't she. Not even human. It didn't matter what she wore, or what her skin was made of. She only knew waves of sensation that kept telling her she was alive. She couldn't just depend on what she saw or felt. others said they were dreams. When she slept, she felt dead; we create our own dreams and for that one needs to be alive, not one but something.
'Why not our comfortable madness become our religion rather than someone else's as your guiding path for life?' she often thought.
'Why not our comfortable madness become our religion rather than someone else's as your guiding path for life?' she often thought.
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