I always liked to consider myself a merchant of hope and, in essence, that is what I am: I offer something more – without care if I am believed or not. If there are people in need of truth (or story) here it is:
If you want more, try - there is plenty of time

The love for speech is one of the first things to lose – there is just you, your mind and whatever God you wish to worship – due to solitude, there is no need for words.

As a result, I rarely speak, I rarely write – everything goes over and over again inside my head – events are repeating themselves, faces, songs, lust – a feeling formed from this combination – hard to explain. To cut a long story short, at one point you need to stop, you are overwhelmed by the impression of a cyclic existence – years rarely bring something new.

My story is far from romance – a mixture of dream and reality that I can
not separate (I relived the entire story many times – added parts, taken parts, mixed parts) – so, I have to be forgiven if I will lie to you, or not – in reality it doesn’t really matter – it’s all about the story – about words.
I was young, 60-70 years ago ( 1921 or 23 or 25 or….) – and studying for the public administration school (father worked at the town hall and he had some success in politics – so I had to fallow his path). There isn’t much I can tell you about those years – except the thirst for life – we all wanted to do something, we wanted to build, to be important – we had huge dreams – revolutions to make, countries to conquer….we were alive, nothing else mattered.

Some won (the battle for the need to live), some lost and some lost and felt the need to win. I was 18 and ready to feel life – so I joined up with a group of no-cause rebels due to an old friend (Himes was his name)….and we ended up with the need to burn – everything – homes, forests, etc – Ignem veni mitteram in Terram – we wanted to burn the entire planet…
I don’t want to bore you so I’m going to skip some parts of the story – well, not to lie, maybe I don’t exactly remember, or I want to protect the memory of…or, or, or….

I was not bitten but stabbed…and saved. There is an entire process to explain (about the infestation and the evolution of the “embrace”) …. My sire died shortly after (somewhere after the great war)…
I tried everything – from politics, to literature and science (hard to believe, isn’t it). But now I’m tired, too tired…..

(strangely enough, I wanted to write about a paradox)

Ambiguous and tragic, but interesting. Thankyou.