As if the moon was choosing to show her face every night, taking the sun hostage and diving into oceans without waves. As if the forest was dreaming about being bonfires and feed the meadow with the ash. As if the wound wanted to breathe again and pulling out the scab on its own. As if it doesn´t matter.
Now it has turned into lava, it´s been eating the ground under my feet, slowly and constantly. It has visited each closed room and is sleeping at the same place as before. Now it is wandering between dandruff and that wild tuft of hair. Now it wants to take me to the cliff as I did with it before, but what it doesn´t know is that I already have the control, the same as if the wind was choosing the weakest villages to desolate, the same as if the earth was dreaming about shaking the most unstable foundations, the same as if stop drowning was as easier as breath again.
Or as if nothing happened.
