"(...) but you're in love with impossibility" ― Ismene to Antigone from Sophocles, Antigone

I had tasted more than I needed to taste.

Perhaps it’s because I was born during the heat of summer, I was conceived with undeniable seethe. I was never taught how to calm this blazing ardour.

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Words are phantoms, pushing-and-pulling the strings in my mind.

We protect what we love as an inherent desire, I've grown claws and fangs in trying to protect what's mine.

I longed my memories. The nostalgia of what has been.

I am nothing but a breathing pulsing organ underneath my skin.