you are building something. a labyrinth of thoughts. i’ll find my way out. and just now i am the Minotaur aren’t i?
you tell me never to trust anyone. if i will believe you that will only mean i never really listen to anything you say. i somehow see what you are getting at. so i don’t trust you. we live in ironies–it’s a post-modern world, post-human even, if you won’t allow me to
run
my fingertips
to
each
warm
breath
you
make.
the Minotaur is outside, looking in, looking at the walls you build around your thoughts.
