Apathetic Mind | Konstantinos Tzavelas

In my life there are no rainbow colors. Τhere is only a dividing line between black and black. Like Sciarra Colonna wearing a glove, I am standing in the room of the a slap.I sit and stick empty boxes that she will carry on her back, behind a window, over and over again. All the leftovers are a dark Christmas tree, without decorations. A fallen letter that once hung from a tree and will never be in a red van with empty boxes. My soul is orange, I painted it. It hovers macabrely over the now dark countries we will never go to. Suddenly like a balloon, as it hovers, my soul breaks, and the place is filled with orange pieces. I fall and try to hold on to torn sails, like a ballerina holding her legs tight. Am I transforming into an inanimate material, into a water creature or better into light that will appear on the city walls when I wish?

The mind is dual, the man as matter, and the cause.
 - The poetic mind is apathetic and immortal.
 — The passive is perishable, but necessary for understanding.
Aristotle, On the Soul, Book Three, Chapter ED