Ragnarok

The breath of the desert caresses my soul. The grey sand of Obiana stays cold and dead. Around me stretches only an expanse of desolate dust, crushed beneath the black sky. The stars hang above the land, silent and alien to life. Solitude and emptiness surround me. I love the desert. The dunes fade into the horizon, without beginning and without end. No roads, no signs, no borders, only an endless grey plain, all the same. This place gives me serenity and freedom. There is no before and no after, no road that dies and none that is born. The desert is like me: a boundless empty expanse that loses itself in every direction, perfect and impossible to fill. The desert makes me feel real: it makes my existence possible, so undefined and empty. The breath of the Capital, instead, troubles my sleep and wakes the ghosts of lives gone by. The phantoms linger in dreams and weigh on my thoughts. Creatures walk around me, prisoners of their fleeting existence, in a web as fragile and passing as the breath of a heartbeat.

— ADE