The Resistance

The body heats up, the temperature rises. The feel of an artist moving deep into the Blues on his acoustic Guitar.

The haunting, the unfamiliarity, the shivers in the body, yet a longing to dive in further and farther until I let go.

Is there not a land made of dreams and magic, all dark and gothic beyond fear?

There must be, for all imaginations have some fragments of truth or they wouldn’t exist in someone’s head.

And this one has been in my head since forever.

And this one pulls me like gravity, like an addict longing for heroin, like an artist longing for inspiration.

Finally, this one demands me to let go. To let go of all there is, of all, I am made of and surrounded by.

This one demands me of my life as it is.

I’ve had moments where I did all of that, touched the periphery, and came back, losing a drop of my sanity. Every time.

And for this one, I am now willing to lose it all. But, I have to resist. For now…

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