In your existence, you suffer— too human, out of fear of your own reflection. Like an automaton, you choose to reach your death in the version of a senseless monster, reflecting nothing human in the matters of knowing. You long to escape your existence without pausing for a single, serious breath. The leap into the void arrives with all your panic and anguish when you feel yourself falling into the dark abyss of not knowing. And you, foolish one, do not see that one day you learned to fear the darkness that shines in knowledge. Without ever questioning your fear, you still wish to know why. Naïve human— even so, you still seek, at night, to rest your body and your mind, and to awaken again in the light— from that sweet dream that brings the feeling of not existing with the guarantee of return. And you touch your face first, and then find yourself again in the mirror, and verify, with your soul, that your flesh is still alive here, still existing, as if immortal. This routine soothes, for a long while, the anguish you carry, human, upon knowing that you exist only briefly— and that the death of your body appears as a horizon more distant than near.
