There is also death, death while living, and we are left behind without realizing it. There are parts that die even before the end arrives, they die of exhaustion, of silence, of absence, of longing. They die without comfort, without sleep, without dreams. Parts die, dreams too. Something remains, it still survives because it needs to, it needs to, it doesn't end, it can't, it still believes somewhere. There remains hope, perhaps fear, to continue being even when one no longer knows what remains of oneself. Death waits outside, always at the door, always so close, just a disguise so as not to feel. Who can bear truths? Lies seem less and continue here, occupying the place of what has already died as if nothing had happened. #domme