Memories from deep underground

By Mr. Vertigo

For the briefest instant, whose duration I could not determine, I dreamed that love existed. Then, without noise, without violence, the dream unraveled and ceased to be.

Only a glacial certainty remained: it had never happened.

Since then, I have grasped something even more terrible than absence: I understood that such extreme beauty, that absolute and unbearable perfection, has been the only truly real thing in my life.

The rest, everything else: my body, my story, the faces that met me, the mountains of worthless words. Nothing but a battered disguise, an absurd, a stupid game, the vulgar caricature of an existence that never carried any real substance.

A deep trace of something that never was… and probably being the only thing that ever truly mattered