old words are still words

(...) who you are, i know not, even though i might be aware of what defines you, your inner self. i am what i am, a fantastic impossibility of imagination, a fallen angel lost in the ravenous whirlwind of reality, the flesh and bone personification of the moon god nitramneadh, my own creation, whose name i borrowed from someone like me that i have never met. i am truly nitramneadh, the one who died for the love of nifrithe and for the world they conceived with all that love. she is gone, though; i have never seen her. one day, perhaps, i will. no rush. my world knows no time.

|free translation from my old blog|