Guilt. Conscious. Religion. Love. Loyalty. Hatred.
When we call back the loved and lost ones, does the memory hurt? Or do we drown ourselves in emotions we used as excuses? Actions are actions, and sometimes even weaker than words. These boundaries are so vicious and man-made, dying in those times when we were ashamed of bodies melting and were veiled in the mystery of light awakening. One couldn’t possibly imagine what it would be like to live in another time, to be the watcher of a remembered history. But does one realize his own existence when drifting along the flow of time? Does anyone have the perception into where they are or who they are?
Is it really a matter of beliefs? Or searching for a belief?
Is it, after all, about living, and living to die?
Shall we visit that afternoon at Brideshead?
