#fragements

Celebrían falls asleep in Elrond’s arms, and it is not a dream. It is just a field of heather, just purple flowers underneath a blue sky. There is a slight wind that carries the scent of birch trees, and the sun is high and white above them. It is not another lifetime; it is just a field and the wind and the sky. Everything real, everything here—her hair falling silver across her face, her hand resting on his knee. There is a rock sharp beneath his leg, and he is glad, for in a dream it would not hurt.

are the interconnected blocks of all existence were made randomly or with a fine structural pattern that allow us to follow reasonably? in between there i am standing and there’s only confusions playing a noisey tune in my head, searching for the context is a burden or should i put it genuinely in a quiet atmospher of wonders making the tune going there slightly moving, what if there existed no two particular poles, what if there’s no poles at all and there is only me that created things out to crawl from this head burning burden, the natural necessity to think over and over again about a fictif blocks that only existed in my imagination.