Sitting on a cliff over the vaste Ocean, I observe the horizon. My thoughts get confused with my fantasies. Salty breeze ruffles my hair and my hopes. Does the genesis of a desire resemble ovulation? The female womb of a disenchanted illusion, a caress in the night and the restlessness of solitude. Even between two hearts out of sync there is love.
However, I wonder: if I am me, who guarantees that you are the same person as yesterday? For example: yesterday, did I kiss Titania Lynn or did I just imagine it?
