Eternograf 3

Perhaps my being is merely a mistake of silence, a daring dream of the universe, born in a moment of cosmic hesitation. And yet I, in my fragile innocence, try to give form to the infinite, to grasp with empty hands that spark which always slips between my fingers. But what is touch, if not a silent way of losing? And what is loss, if not another path toward the truth that we are bound, invisibly, to all we cannot hold? I am but a passerby on a shoreless sea, carrying within me the weight of dreams that not even death can scatter.