The story I'm going to tell, is not my story.
It is the story of someone, who is telling a story which is very similar to his own.
The dream I will remember, won't be mine.
It's the dream of someone who remembers a dream, that is very similar to his own.
I think of stories I like to make stories.
To tell them. I know this must sound like the dream of little Iasonas. What will he be when he grows up.
When I wake up, it'll happen again.
It'll start all over...
Sunday, February 26, 2012
There's a form of life on this planet.
Θα μπορουσε να ηταν κι αυτος που ταξιδευε
Ποση μοναξια ν' αντεξει εκει,
Μια στιγμη αδυναμιας του.
Μια στιγμη ακομη που τρωει
αλυπητα το θυμα της.
Της τον θυμιζε σε ολα
κι αυτο της εφτανε.