I could not do it anymore, every day was a tear that slipped by like that. I had spent a lot of time accustomed to that condition. She hid it, knew it was different, different.
Her senses made her live different things, rare for the common people. A virtue or the mark of a curse.
His life passed between those world, the reality and the flashes of his imagination. There was such a close connection that there was no glimpse of where the truth began and ended.
Strange for the rest of the world, he continued, until he let himself be carried away by unreality, and wanted to rest. The world has its mystery, there are lives that continue beyond death. Do not escape from your destiny.
Now, it's still in the fog; coexisting with a single reality, the same as always. Wandering is maintained by the corners of his material body, waiting for them to realize that he is not there, that his house was buried somewhere.