The further you move into the cosmic darkness,
the deeper you sink into the universe,
The more violently the winds will blow.
Could this be labor pains, foretelling delivery ?
The fears of suffocation are clustering in your trachea
smothering your withered lungs.
Could a new breath of air somehow baptize your shivering soul ?
From the top of the cushion, weather conditions are swiftly changing.
It turns out quite often, even though this may appear fully counterintuitive as long as we stick to linear projections, that the most serene landscapes are preceded by the fiercest torments.
The storm is raging and the cyclone is blowing everything on its way.
From the top of the cushion, you are not spared.
To sit through the winds, you need to anchor to your breathing,
but the virulent swirl is uprooting you so certainly that you only wish to get up and leave at once.
The final bell would come as a life-belt…but it is still so far out there.
Just a few more seconds and you will shout, stand up and run in tears…and then…and then…
Suddenly, you enter the eye of the storm…it dissolves completely, leaving all the chairs, books, clothes and leaves fall gently back on the ground.
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