This is not the first time and it is not the last

But it is real. The moment of silence which we observe is for this very reason. No word can possibly describe the real. We live in the world of fictions and this is our privilege. The pain is great and it is not borrowed, it is for every child. And that child is not the others but it is mine. Am I to be absorbed into this, perhaps there is no other way. Dust and blood has a familiar smell. This I did not choose, it was part of my inheritance. I chose exile, the land of fictions. The choice is that of a mad man, how could it not be? And the fool can laugh when there is nothing else left to do. The coward that I may be in the land of fiction can make up big words in the midst of laughter to obscure the real. I could not choose the real but it kept chasing me. In a different dimension I can run in parallel and look into its face eye to eye. In the land of fiction I am safe. Eye to eye I may find a way and I am still here and tomorrow may bring another day.