ACHERON
As good epirotans, we feel pierced by a dart of incandescent water, a wet arrow that sinks with sadness in our ventricles, lifting as in the unbearable pain that the heaviness of our being is the very air we breathe; and is there, in that eternal moment of compelling certainty, when we understand that time is not a river but a rueful waterfall that plunges us into a deep, dark abyss in which life is just a moment of fall, a place where we sleep while we are happy, a garden where there are many more thorns than roses.
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