There are resting places in this world. Places where the young is nurtered by the old, and they take shelter together and love each other. These are the resting places.
Entering the world is like coming to a place of seemingly chaos. Yet, upon further contemplation, there seems to be order and truth in it. It can be discrerned by a diligent mind, but most are unwilling or have forgotten how.
We are as if placed on the edge of a border. The edge of society and mankind all togehter, and our culprit relapses over and over again. We cannot go too far into the tunnel, because it is hot and burning. So we rest a second in front of the entrance, having no hope for ourselves.
We wonder what will we meet once the door is closed. From a space that cannot be transcended. Will it be merciful towards us? Eat our skin, and our pain and heart. We do not know, we only know that we have to go in through the entrance one day. It is always a countdown.
So proceed! - What else to do? Were I framed? How would you frame such a one as me?
Proceed into these obscur places. Darkness and calming nights. Drinks and toasts, and have no fear.