* is in likeness of polished, clean glass, with a shine of its own; #, on the other hand, presents itself dirty and reckless - guided by its rebellious, random nature, # soils * with suffering and disgust. Pure as it is, * feels ravished, violated, abused; in the end, it realizes that # - frivolous - will not stop and respect purity - the battle between these two abstract identities begins, only to last a few moments in this hypothetical time.
*, exhausted, loses the fight and shatters in the metaphysical walls of this Universe; it can see pieces of itself spread all over the multidimensional space - pieces so dirty they could belong to the opponent. It wishes to have fought more vigorously to maintain its identity, wholeness and purity; it wishes to have battled with fervor and joy worthy of an immaculate concept who knows and values itself.
(Fragments of ideas wither away / abstractions cease to be) and all is silent.
The dark sky has witnessed, an infinite number of times, the death of imagination.