Beautiful world...
To you I write, so carry my words to your pure souls.
Whoever sees them in the huge ground thinks them as one, as if he has exchanged his shadow for a friend that follows him, or that his soul is out of breath, and it rages, so his body splits to free it, but it remained tied to him, following him, moving through the ground, entering it and leaving, avoiding people, as they have their own world, and if he steps on it, it would shake, no place for him there, not now.
The ground is huge, and there are different types of people, he and his companion are among them and not from them, no one knows him, and so it suits him, as if he is a walking secret, a secret that has not been buried, apparent, but by the action of a curse his inner shadow remains hidden, on his back carrying hope, and in his bag a diary with heavy writing.
For the beautiful world, and for its pure souls.